


School Robes

by Lios



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts, Immortality, M/M, Old Magic, Secret Identity, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lios/pseuds/Lios
Summary: Harry Potter, aged 6, draws the attention of a police officer when he needs rescuing from the roof of his school. Nobody can tell the officer how he got there, but when he meets the child Arthur Pendragon understands: magic.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 504





	1. Foundling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the BBC's Merlin. You can take it that all of Merlin's events until the last moments where Arthur dies have taken place. In this story, Merlin died in Arthur's place. More details of this should become clear over the course of the story. As for Harry, this started with the idea that he once ended up on the roof of his school by accident. He is aged six in this story. 
> 
> This story has been sitting on my hard-drive for quite a few years now in bits and pieces. I have decided to post it and updates will likely be sporadic. It is incredibly flawed, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway. This first chapter is an introduction to the narrative - subsequent chapters will mirror Harry's years in Hogwarts with clear differences.

It had been approximately three hours and forty seven minutes since he had last had a smoke and the urge to do so was painfully echoing in his brain, fingers itching to reach for the packet stashed in his right breast pocket. He drummed his fingers against his thigh instead, letting his head fall back against the cold head rest gently. His passenger made no sound but quickly readjusted to the slight shift in position, burrowing further into Arthur’s neck. He sighed gently, wondering with some amusement whether or not the little fingers would leave small bruises on his pale skin.

He woke some time later to the kind words of the paramedic informing him that they had in fact reached their destination during his brief lapse of consciousness. Nodding and murmuring a brief gratitude, Arthur looked down at the child who appeared to be sleeping as deeply as he had been. With a small smile, he secured his arms around the boy and stood up, allowing himself to be guided out of the ambulance and into the awaiting hospital department. He was led directly into a closet-size examination room down the corridor from the A&E and silently thanked the gods for the ability to avoid that horror. His next divine praise came when he spotted the uniform sitting in one of the two vacant chairs in the room, holding a take away coffee cup and wearing a bright smile.

“You are officially my favourite police officer,” said Arthur, grinning back and sitting down on the second plastic seat. The lump in his arms mumbled something incoherent but otherwise didn’t protest to the movement.

“Who said anything about this being for you?” replied the woman in a light and teasing manner. “Did you want something? You should have said.”

He laughed quietly, careful not to disturb the child. “I sense a disciplinary action in your future unless you hand it over soon, PC Davis.”

“Wouldn’t that be an abuse of your power, _sir_?”

“Naturally. Now give me.” With his free hand, Arthur made grabbing actions in the direction of the cup. Rolling her eyes, the officer handed it over, her hand brushing against his briefly. He raised the coffee to his lips carefully and took a sip, moaning in satisfaction as he swallowed his first mouthful.

“That’s just obscene,” said Davis, hiding her laughter behind a hand. Arthur toasted her mockingly with the cup before drinking from it again.

“I’d offer to take him off your hands,” she mentioned after a few moments of happy silence, motioning to the boy still attached to him. “But I heard that didn’t go down very well earlier.”

He nodded, feeling sombre again. “As you can see we are still quite literally attached at the hip.”

“It would be very cute if it wasn’t so serious. What do you think’s going on?”

His mouth twisted in reaction to unpleasant thoughts before he answered her again. “I’m not sure. The teachers were convinced he was just being his usual mischievous self. I’m less inclined to believe that a child climbs up onto a three storey roof to cause trouble without lacking _some_ emotional or behavioural common sense. But I guess I don’t know anything about children.”

“You seem like you’re managing just fine,” she pointed out.

Arthur smiled in return. “Thanks, Julie. Why’d they pull you out here? This kind of case is about as typical for you as it is for me.”

“Oh, you know the usual child protection style, I’m a woman. Can’t trust male officers with children because of their inherent perverted ways unlike us perfectly maternal females. And apparently I wasn’t looking busy enough at the station,” she said, shrugging. “They’re sending someone from social services down here too but they think it may take a while. Their team is apparently more short-staffed than ours, if you can believe that.”

He scoffed at the information. “Sounds about right.” He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of a young female doctor into the clinic room. The doctor smiled encouragingly at him, approaching his seat and crouching low to the ground in a non-threatening manner. Arthur could see that the pockets of the white lab coat hanging open over her floral dress were stuffed with lollipops and stickers which made him smile. He watched as she gently called the boy’s name, rousing him from his sleep. Arthur could feel the boy wriggling again, but couldn’t see whether or not the child was looking at the doctor.

“It’s ok, Harry,” said Arthur, speaking directly to the child for the first time since the ambulance, when he had tried unsuccessfully to detach the boy from his person. “The doctor just wants to have a look and make sure we didn’t hurt anything up on the roof ok?”

The boy made no move to acknowledge Arthur’s words other than to sigh quietly against his neck. Arthur decided to try again. “Look, the doctor is going to check me out first.” He met the doctor’s eyes and she nodded back at him. “We can start with my free arm, Doctor Lewis.”

An hour later, Arthur was standing out in the hallway across from a vending machine. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling a little relieved he was free to do so again. Harry had taken possession of his right leg this time, one arm curled loosely just above Arthur’s knee while the other hand held a chocolate bar to his mouth while he watched with wide eyes as people hurried past. His head swivelled up and down the corridor to look at Julie Davis as she approached them, smiling again. She paused briefly to ask Harry if his treat tasted good and turned to face Arthur after receiving a feeble confirmation nod from the child.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” asked Arthur, noticing now up close that her smile was more forced than it usually appeared to be.

She shook her head and handed him a manila folder. Opening it, he spent a minute skimming through the report before deciding he’d seen enough. He snapped it shut, shoved it back into Davis’ hands and took a moment to collect himself. One of Davis’ hands fell onto his shoulder in what he assumed was intended to be a calming gesture but he didn’t find himself feeling very calm. He blew out a stream of hot air, feeling her grip tighten around his muscle. He shook it off gently, bending down to scoop up the little boy in his arms again who let out a small sound of surprise before settling happily again.

“Julie, I think I’m finally hungry enough to resort to eating some McDonalds.”

The other officer raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t we supposed to stay here until the social worker arrives?”

“They can meet us back at the station. There’s a McDonalds around the corner from it.”

* * *

Arthur had watched Harry explore the _Happy Meal_ with amusement before realising suddenly that his wonder was born out of lack of exposure to normal childhood experiences. The smile on his face and his good mood died pretty quickly after that and he picked pathetically at his own burger. He was aware of Julie’s concerned eyes on him as they walked back to the station, Harry walking with one hand gripped in his own. Julie had at one point tried to hold his other hand, but the kid had shied away quickly and she hadn’t pushed it further.

He ignored the surprised looks of the other officers in the building as they walked through. He felt a wave of appreciation for Julie having called ahead of them as it meant they moved through uninhibited. Arthur led them towards one of the conference rooms used rarely for meetings, flicking the lights on with his elbow. He glanced down at Harry and saw that he was peeking at the room from behind a hand that was covering his face.

“Not exactly the most comfortable place to keep a child,” said Julie, looking around at the long table and chairs surrounding it.

“Better than interview room three,” replied Arthur, earning a laugh from the woman.

He bent over and scooped Harry up, carrying him to the chair furthest away from the door. He placed the boy down gently, shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around him. The green eyes watched him carefully, accepting the demonstrations of affection without complaint.

“Will you direct the social worker here when she comes please, Julie?”

The police officer smiled enthusiastically at him, taking his hint. “Of course, Arthur,” she said, before leaving the room quietly.

The two males were left staring at each other. “What am I going to do with you?” asked Arthur rhetorically. Harry blinked back.

The idea came to him instantly. It was the only magic he could ever manage to do for himself. Arthur tore the page out of a notepad sitting on the table, ignoring the messy edges as he scrawled her true name across the middle of the paper. He dropped the pen and glanced at the name briefly. Without having to think about it, he pulled out the box of matches he kept in his trouser pocket. After shaking one into his hand, he struck it alight. He held the match upright, watching the flames lick their way downwards slowly against the resistance. When he felt the flames hit his skin, he dropped the match. It fell perfectly onto the written name, burning quickly through each letter. The final one was still legible beneath the fire when he sensed the subtle change in the room’s atmosphere.

He looked up to find her sitting opposite him at the table. She was watching him, her face blank of any expression. He noted with a little amusement that he was still surprised to find she hadn’t changed very much. Her hair was shorter and wilder than it had been, though he supposed that was part of the fashion of this time. Like him, her face had still not been marked by time or hardship.

“Hi,” said Arthur, clearing his throat when he heard how hoarse he sounded.

“Hi,” she responded, sounding just as he remembered.

They continued to stare at each for a long moment, each obviously unwilling to be the one to start a conversation. Eventually Arthur sighed, breaking the silence and rubbing a tired hand into his brow.

“What am I to call you now?” he asked, feeling as dejected as he sounded.

She seemed to think before she answered him. “It’s _Helena_ at the moment. And you?”

“I find myself unable to call myself anything but Arthur now.”

She did not mock him as he expected. Instead she smiled, leaning towards him with her chin resting on her palm. “You have always been more attached to your own name than I have been to mine.”

He grinned, feeling his stomach turn pleasantly at the idea of being with someone he didn’t have to hide from, someone who knew him.

“I had forgotten you could smile,” said Helena lightly. “You haven’t smiled at me in over forty years now. I thought your pretty face was lost to me forever.”

He rolled his eyes reflexively. “If I refused to talk to you every time you did something morally ambiguous, we wouldn’t know each other at all.”

“Perhaps, but forty years is a long time to keep a girl waiting.”

Arthur’s eyes drifted to the side of the table where he’d placed Harry. The boy was wrapped in his coat acting as a blanket, his frame so small he fit completely comfortably in one conference chair. His dark mop of hair was only just visible from where he had snuggled under the clothes, sleeping peacefully. Helena’s eyes followed his.

“It’s funny, Arthur, how you always call me after you’ve done something stupid. Never before. You make me feel like some kind of personal damage control for you.”

Heat rose to Arthur’s face. “I haven’t done anything stupid.”

“No?” asked Helena, one eyebrow raised at him. “You have nothing to do with that child over there then? It’s a complete coincidence he’s in here with us?”

“He needs help,” said Arthur through gritted teeth. He tried not to raise his voice, knowing it would likely upset Harry.

“Of course he did, and as usual you are the only one selfless enough to give it, Arthur.”

His eyes lingered on the boy, flinching on her words because he knew that she right. “I couldn’t leave him, Helena. He was literally on a bloody roof. And he has magic. I can feel it.”

“Yes, he does, like many other children his age. Not exceptional talent by any means but not particularly weak either. I’m sure with practice and determination he’ll manage to become your average every-day wizard and lead a perfectly normal magical life.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, he must be stronger than that. I can _feel_ it, radiating out of him constantly. It’s driving my nerves crazy. I haven’t been able to feel magic like this since that time we were in Australia, do you remember? That was almost a century ago now and I’ve tasted magic since, but none of it feels like this.”

He did not like the look that formed on her face. “That is because what you’re sensing is not his magic, Arthur. The boy is cursed.”

A cold sensation washed over Arthur as her words hit him. He gasped, suddenly feeling short of air. His right hand flew to his throat to loosen his collar, fearing that he would suffocate or else vomit shortly. His eyes slid closed as he struggled to fight a wave of darkness that bested him, making him feel ill from his head to his toes. He opened his mouth again to cry for help when instantly the feeling faded and warmth spread through his body again.

He opened his eyes to see that there was no longer a table between them. Instead, Helena stood in front of Arthur, one hand cupping his cheek. The heat from her touch was comforting and Arthur found himself sinking into her hand.

“I told you that you did something stupid,” said Helena, amusement hidden in her words.

Arthur smiled dopily back, feeling almost high on her warmth. “What just happened to me?”

“You were out of your depth, little Prince,” she replied. “You lost yourself in the darkness of that curse and you did not know how to bring yourself back. The perils of being able to sense a magic you either know or can do nothing about.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur sincerely. She nodded in acknowledgement. His eyes drifted back to Harry, who hadn’t stirred. “Did he feel that?”

“No. I imagine he’s quite immune to most of the darkness. He has been living with it for most of his life now and children are great at adapting.”

“What’s wrong with him? I’ve known cursed children before, and none of them have made me feel like that.”

He placed his hand on Helena’s where it still held him. She did not take the cue to let him go, probably concerned that he would lose himself again.

“There is another soul attached to his own,” began Helena, “the remnants of a powerful wizard who attempted to steal his life in order to extend his own. It only half worked: you know as well as I do that achieving immortality is a tricky business.”

“What do you mean, that it half worked?”

“That he neither failed nor succeeded. He does not live, but he cannot die while a part of him exists in that child. It is magic that is cruder and older than even you and I. How it managed to survive time irritates me, when so much better magic has been lost.”

“What does it mean for him? For Harry, I mean?”

Helena did not answer him for several seconds. “I’ve never had prophetic powers, Arthur. But life will undoubtedly be difficult for him. You are out of your depth here. There is little you can do to support a magical child.”

“I can do more than the bastards they had him with already. He was miserable there, they were abusing him.”

She did not react with shock or horror. He knew that she wouldn’t be surprised to hear any more about the evils of the world.

“I can help this one,” said Arthur, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself as well as her. “I know I’m not magical but I can help him. All children need someone to look after them.”

Helena stared into his eyes. Arthur swore he could feel her evaluating the weight of his conscience in that look.

“They do. But helping this child will not right wrongs of the past. You know that, don’t you Arthur?”

He swallowed. “Believe me, I do. But maybe it will help me feel a little bit better about myself.”

It was the most honest he had been with anyone, including her, in centuries. Helena smiled in response.

“If you expect me to give up my single-lady lifestyle in order to help you out with another one of your stupid _save the world_ kind of ideas, you could at least make an honest woman out of me.”

Arthur grinned. “You’re not going to make me go down on one knee and beg are you?”

“Not yet,” answered Helena, staring thoughtfully at her left hand. He picked it up in his own, raising it to his mouth and kissing it softly. “But you’re going to have to buy me a massive diamond.”

* * *

Arthur had bundled the still-sleeping Harry onto his lap before the social worker had come into the room, hoping the sight was wholesome enough to win her over. Helena stood up to greet the other woman, leaning over the table to shake hands with her. The social worker smiled reflexively, which was a reaction Arthur was well used to. Helena had an incredible ability to charm people into trusting her. He was never quite sure if it was a magical ability, or purely driven by her appearance and personality.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here,” started the social worker, sitting down with a heavy thud. “One of my colleagues is out sick and honestly Harry’s case was lower down on the priority chain given that we knew he was obviously very safe here.”

“That’s alright,” said Arthur, attempting a charming smile of his own. The woman gaped at him, eyes sliding between him and Helena slowly. “We’ve been able to keep Harry comfortable at least.”

The social worker’s eyes returned to Harry, smiling at the image of him sleeping soundly. “Yes, I can see that. That’s fantastic. I was quite surprised when I got your call honestly. Usually I turn up at police stations to take children off to care homes. It’s not often that the police officers are providing their own solutions.”

Arthur glanced at Helena. “Well, I guess Harry and I have been glued together since I took him away from his school. He’s been reluctant to go to anybody else and when I called ‘Lena to tell her why I was stuck at the station, she decided to come by and drop us off some dinner.”

“And just look at them,” continued Helena, her voice soft and sappy. “Aren’t they just the sweetest pair? I think I fell in love with the boy as soon as I saw them together.”

The social worker nodded slowly, chewing on a pen she had pulled from her pocket. Arthur wasn’t sure why she had it when she had no paper out to write on. “And you two are married?”

“Six years now,” supplied Arthur, feeling only slightly guilty over the lie.

“No children yet,” added Helena, anticipating the next question. “I unfortunately have a medical condition where I can’t have children naturally.”

“I’m so sorry,” said the social worker sympathetically. “That’s why you applied to become foster carers?”

Arthur nodded as Helena slid the folder containing all of their documentation across the table. None of it had existed an hour ago. He felt paranoid that she had messed up somehow in falsifying the papers – how would she know what a real foster care certificate looked like after all?

The social worker took the file and flicked through it briefly, pausing over one or two documents to read more deeply. “And you are still set up and ready to go?” she asked. “You have space for Harry ready?”

“Just need to put new sheets on his bed,” replied Helena immediately. Yeah, thought Arthur, new sheets on the nonexistent bed in the impersonal spare room in his two-bedroom flat.

“Well, it seems like everything is in order then. Although he’s been so unfortunate to end up here, I think Harry’s very lucky the two of you found him.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, feeling his arms instinctively tighten around the boy. “We’ll do right by him, I promise.”

The social worker smiled again, looking tired as she stood up from the table. “I’m just going to have to make some calls to update my supervisor, but I’ll be back shortly with the paperwork.”

They nodded enthusiastically as she left the room, turning towards each other as soon as the door closed. Arthur freed a hand and held it out to her. She high-fived him instantly.

“So a thousand years on and I am officially a dad,” said Arthur, looking down at Harry. “I’m already starting to feel some empathy for dear dead father. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “It pains me to compliment you but you’ve nothing to worry about. Of the two of us, you’ll definitely be the better parent, Arthur.”

He closed his eyes, mentally berating himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about how hard this must be for you.”

“It’s not. Like you said, it’s a thousand years on. I’m long over it.”

Arthur suspected that what she said wasn’t true but he didn’t have time to question her. The door opened and the social worker slipped in again. Arthur frowned when he noticed the change in her demeanour and noticed Helena sit up straighter beside him. When she had last entered the room, the social worker had looked worn-out and stressed but kind. Arthur noticed that those impressions of her had faded away into a vacant expression.

“That was fast,” said Helena, her voice sounding cold. Arthur opened his mouth to give out to her for sounding too harsh when he realised the social worker wasn’t carrying any papers for them to sign.

“I’m sorry,” began the social worker, her tone void of the musicality of natural speech. “It appears I was mistaken. We have located another relative of the child and he is here to take him home.”

Helena leant forward, resting an elbow on the table and putting her chin on her hand. Arthur, in comparison, leaned further back into his chair, readjusting Harry so that he hid him more behind one shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I might sound stupid here repeating you,” started Helena, “Five minutes ago when you left this room you told us Harry would be coming home with us. In that short amount of time, you have sourced a new guardian for him that you are more convinced will serve him better than us? You have me very confused.”

The social worker stood staring at them blankly. Helena continued speaking while Arthur struggled to find words. “I think we’ll have to ignore what you just said and take Harry home with us anyway. So _you will_ bring us the fostering papers.”

The words were an order, not a request. The woman blinked absently at them, unmoving from where she stood despite Helena’s command. Suddenly the social worker’s nose started to bleed and she swayed on her feet. Arthur felt the urge to rush to her, inhibited by the weight of Harry against his chest. He didn’t need to move in the end because a chair slid out from the table and safely caught the woman as she collapsed.

Arthur had no time to react to the sight because another person had joined them in the room. It was an old eccentric-looking man, with long grey hair and a beard to match. He was dressed in what Arthur recognised to be the ridiculous fashion of wizards, a deep blue colour to his robes. Arthur could sense the magic crackling in the air around him, but it felt old and dusty unlike the one he felt from Harry. The old wizard was smiling at them from behind half moon glasses, obviously trying to emit a grandfatherly image. Arthur felt his blood run cold.

“It appears we have had a misunderstanding,” said the wizard, continuing to smile.

“What’s that then?” asked Arthur, finding his voice again. He noted that Helena was very still beside him, watching the man closely.

“It seems as if we all want the best for young Mr Potter there. Fortunately, some of us know how to best provide for him.”

“Are you referring to yourself?” questioned Arthur, working to keep calm.

“Of course,” replied the wizard. “It is very noble of you to offer your life to help Mr Potter, but it is ultimately unnecessary. We have already ensured he is in the best place possible to provide him with the life he needs.”

“Are you talking about his aunt and uncle’s house? Where they kept him in a cupboard under the stairs?” asked Arthur, anger clear in his tone. “Are you one of the people responsible for keeping him there?”

“Please, Detective. Keep some civility in yourself and _listen_.”

The air seemed to shimmer in the room for a moment and Arthur felt a tug deep in his stomach that left him with a sick feeling. Beside him, Helena started to laugh softly. It was not a happy or light sound. It sent a chill down Arthur’s spine.

“There is no point in you trying to influence either of us,” warned Helena, her voice dangerous. “Neither of our minds can be led by suggestion magic. If you want the boy, you will have to take him by force and I don’t think that will end with the result you expect.”

Arthur looked between Helena and the unknown wizard, tension palpable in the air. “Who are you?”

Helena answered the question before the man had the chance to. “He is Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, first class. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore with twinkling eyes. “You have heard of me.”

“I have seen your _Chocolate Frog_ card,” said Helena. “It is my least favourite of all of them. Tell me, Mr Dumbledore, do you think the Wizengamot would enjoy the idea of you controlling the minds of mundanes in order to further your own agenda? I thought that had been illegal in this country since the eighteenth century.”

“I do not take kindly to threats, my lady,” said Dumbledore calmly.

“Nor do we,” said Arthur, before either of them could say any more. “I’m not sure what your agenda is here, but it’s not going to work. We are taking Harry home with us and there’s nothing you can say or do that will stop us.”

He resisted looking at Helena, hoping that she agreed with him. Arthur knew his own determination would not be enough if Dumbledore decided to fight him with magic.

“I don’t believe you understand what you are involving yourself in, my boy,” said the wizard. “There is other kinds of magic here you clearly have no understanding of.”

Helena spoke before he could. “No form of protective magic is powerful enough to warrant the abuse of a child.”

No one spoke for a minute, the air feeling heavy between all of them. Harry still didn’t stir in his chair. He was beginning to suspect that Helena had helped the boy fall into a deep sleep.

“We are at an impasse,” said Helena. “You do not want to let us leave with the boy, but we will not let you leave with him either. The only point worth noting however is that we currently have the boy which gives us the upper hand. You will not be able to take him unless you fight through us first, and that is not exactly something the Supreme Mugwump can do, is it?”

“That boy will die in your care,” said Dumbledore suddenly.

“I am willing to take that chance, but you are underestimating us,” said Helena. “Arthur will do his absolute best for that boy, and you can guarantee that I will be with him every step of their journey to protect them.”

She stood from her chair suddenly, holding her right hand in the air. Without a sound, a silver knife appeared in it. The blade was long, and from where he sat, Arthur could see a swirling design down the length of it. Helena held her left palm upwards and ran the knife across it quickly. Arthur did not flinch as blood started to flow freely from the wound. He watched carefully as the knife disappeared and she dipped her uninjured fingers into the laceration, smearing them with blood. She turned towards Arthur then, bending down to the ground and swiping her fingers along the laminate floor. She paused to dip her hands several times back in the source of the blood. A minute or two later, she moved towards Harry, repeating her movements on the floor below him. Arthur glanced down at the circle surrounding him on the floor, messily painted in her blood.

“You should be satisfied, Mr Dumbledore,” said Helena casually. “One blood spell replaces another.”

“What have you done?” asked the wizard in horror.

She held her still oozing hand up at him. “ _Leave_ ,” she commanded him, and Dumbledore disappeared instantly. She sank back into her chair then and blew on her hand as if to cool it. It didn’t knit itself back together like Arthur expected. Instead she summoned a bandage from the air and began wrapping it around the wound.

“What was that?” asked Arthur in surprise, watching her wind the dressing around.

“Exactly what it looked like. Blood magic. Come on, Arthur, keep up.”

“I didn’t realise you liked me enough to commit yourself to me like that.”

“Either did I, so you really better like that child.”

* * *

It had taken some time for Helena to rouse the social worker and help her complete the necessary paperwork for them to leave legally with Harry. Arthur had left the boy with Helena while he went back to his desk, picking up his backpack that held the essentials like his house keys and wallet. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up. Julie Davis was standing watching him, her hands clasped in front of her.

“You all sorted then?” asked Julie brightly. “You’re really going to take the kid home with you?”

Arthur nodded and gave her a smile. “Yeah, it’s going to be a steep learning curve for the next twelve years.”

“You’ll do it,” she replied earnestly. “You’ll be a great dad.”

“Thanks, Julie.”

Helena appeared behind the police officer then with Harry perched on her hip. “Hey, can we get the car keys?” she asked, holding out her hand. “I just want to get him settled in.”

Arthur tossed the bundle of keys at her. She caught them without passing any remarks to Julie and carried Harry off, whispering something to him as they disappeared out of the station. Arthur’s gaze followed for as long as he could see them.

“Wow,” said Julie, breaking his stare and bringing his attention back to her. “I had kind of worried what the story was with you being married, seeing as how you haven’t mentioned it in the year that we’ve worked together.”

He winced. “Julie-”

“No, really, please don’t,” she said, holding up her hands defensively. “You’re really lucky, she’s a beautiful woman. I hope that you continue to be very happy together.”

Julie turned around after that and stormed off, leaving him behind to scratch at his head in confusion. The feeling lasted until he got out to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, looking thoughtfully at the boy in the car seat that hadn’t been there a couple hours ago.

“I think I just messed up the one positive working relationship I had in this station,” said Arthur, staring absently at the building through the windscreen.

“Of course you did,” said Helena. “She liked you because she fancied you and now that you’ve paraded your wife throughout your workplace, she’s feeling hurt and betrayed because you led her to believe that there was a chance something might happen between the two of you. What? Don’t look at me like that. It was written all over her face, I didn’t have to read her mind to find that out.”

Arthur sighed. “She was a nice girl.”

“She’ll probably still sleep with you if you spin some kind of story for her. I’m too busy with the baby and just don’t want to have sex with you, or I’m secretly gay and you only married me out of loyalty to protect me from my abusive parents. She’ll fall over herself to get into bed with you.”

He rolled his eyes but a small chuckle came out of his mouth with it. “No, I’ve made a commitment to you now. I can’t bring other women into our marriage bed.”

The words were intended as a joke but instead they hung heavily in the air between them. He could not swear an oath as significantly as she could given his lack of magic, but he was as loyal to her as she was to him.

“Do you think it sad,” asked Arthur, their eyes meeting, “that you are the only friend I have had for the last millennium?”

Her hand fell down onto his, their fingers intertwining on the gearstick. “Of course it’s sad, Arthur. You’ve had a sad soul since before I met you.”

He flinched as a shout came from behind him, breaking the sincerity of the moment. They both turned to look at the little boy who had finally woken having slept through hours of excitement. The child blinked slowly at them, eyes darting between Arthur and Helena cautiously.

“Hello, Harry,” said Arthur. “Are you ready to go to your new home?”


	2. Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimpses of the summer before Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little Helena heavy, and lots more of Harry. 
> 
> Some of the writing in the robes and wand scene you should recognise as it has been taken from the Philosopher's Stone. Obviously I do not own it, as I don't own any of these characters.

The envelope was pinned to the fridge door beneath a _Disneyland_ magnet. Harry frowned, mouthing the writing on it as he read.

_Mr H. Potter  
The Last Door on the Left  
Avalon Gate  
South Kensington  
London_

He pulled the magnet off the paper and freed the envelope, rereading the address. He tucked it under his arm for safekeeping before diving into the freezer. He pulled out the box of ice pops he had been looking for in the first place. Without thinking about it, he selected a cola one before shoving the box back into its space. He cut the tip off with a scissors, leaving them on the kitchen counter lazily as he sucked on the ice pop. He retrieved the envelope again and read the words once more before making his decision.

Harry walked into the garden, dodging the other children who ran around about him excitedly. He waved at the boys playing football, shouting that he would return to them soon. A couple of other kids hounded him to know where he got the ice pop and he chased them off by giving directions to the freezer. Eventually with all of the distractions, he reached the back wall of the garden. He walked along it until he got to the garden swing, feeling a pang of regret that he’d managed to eat his entire ice pop by the time he finished his journey.

He stopped in front of the woman sitting on the swing and frowned again. “Hey, where did you get that rabbit?” asked Harry in confusion.

Helena shrugged innocently back, continuing to run her hands over the white bunny in her lap. “I just found him out here, sitting on his own.”

“You’d better put him back before Mr Wallace does his act,” said Harry sternly. “It’ll be no good if he doesn’t have a rabbit for the hat.”

“Surely if he was a decent magician he could magic the rabbit from my lap in through the hat.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her. “You know that’s not how it works, Helena,” he told her. He did not flinch as the rabbit disappeared instantly before his eyes. “I think Dad needs your help. Ricky Madden’s mum has been over by the barbecue for twenty minutes now trying to get him to agree to taking off his shirt.”

Helena laughed, making Harry smile too. “Oh no, I am not getting involved. That was part of the deal of having this party in the first place, remember? Arthur would do all the schmoozing while I found a place to hide from all your brat friends with huge amounts of wine.”

Harry glanced around the area surrounding the garden swing. “Where _is_ your wine then?”

She smirked. “It’s well hidden, don’t you worry. What brings you out here to me anyway, Harry? Aren’t you having fun?”

He turned and glanced back at the rest of the house and garden, watching as kids and adults mingled everywhere, chatting and playing and smiling. He looked back at Helena. “Yes,” he said. “I’m having a great time. But I found something in the kitchen and it distracted me.”

He held the letter out in front of him, bridging the gap between them. Her eyes flickered down to read the ink before she sighed, sounding resigned. Helena held out both of her arms, too wide to be looking to take the letter off him. He understood the cue immediately, climbing onto her lap and allowing her to fold her arms around him. Harry had been working hard for the last two years to stop his dad from picking him up or hugging him, trying to stress to the man that his reputation was being ruined by the childish affection. He hadn’t had to have the same arguments with Helena because she had never been as tactile with him. She had supported him in his claim that being held was for little kids, but Harry suspected she secretly enjoyed holding him as much as his dad did.

“Are you going to open it?” she asked, her chin resting on his left shoulder.

“Am I supposed to?” asked Harry, feeling a little scared.

“It has your name on it, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I never ever get post. Who sends an eleven year old post? Maybe you should do it ‘Lena.”

“Oh no, I am not touching that. This is your responsibility, Harry. You should be the one to open it, but we’ll face the consequences of it together.”

Harry nodded, summoning the nerve to flip the envelope over and rip it open with all the care a boy could manage. He pulled the parchment out, feeling its weight in its fingers and read the script aloud to Helena.

“Hogwarts school?” repeated Harry. “They want me to go in September? But I haven’t finished primary yet.” He leafed through the book lists that had also been in the envelope. “Wow this is a lot of stuff.”

“It’s traditional for wizards and witches to start in Hogwarts after their eleventh birthday,” said Helena gently. “They don’t care very much for other schooling. Most magical children are home-schooled before they go.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of missing out on school when it came with lots of fun things like lunchtime and yard and music Mondays. “That’s where my other parents went to school, isn’t it?”

Helena nodded into his shoulder. “Yes. It’s the only magical school in the UK. There are very few options when it comes to education worldwide. You know that there are schools in Europe and the States too, but even they are few and far between.”

“And this one is in Scotland?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I know you told me about it before, but I thought I would be older when they came to ask if I wanted to go. Scotland seems very far away from here right now.”

She squeezed him in her arms tightly, making him squirm and giggle in protest. “You have time to think about it, you know. You don’t need to panic yourself into making a decision. And you _really_ shouldn’t make a decision about going until after you’ve told your dad about the letter. You know how upset he gets when he feels like we’ve left him out of something.”

Harry hummed in agreement. He carefully folded the sheets of parchment and wrapped them in what was left of the envelope. He set the packet down on the bench beside them, staring at it for a few seconds and mentally telling it not to fly away in the wind. “Helena?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you come watch Mr Wallace’s routine with me? I think I can see him setting up now.”

She sighed again, throwing him from her lap and standing up. He lay on the grass in a heap, laughing uncontrollably. Helena smiled at him, reaching down with both hands to help put him back on his feet. She brushed some of the grass off his jersey affectionately.

“I’m still insulted that you want to see a fraud perform magic tricks at your birthday party, but let’s go get our money’s worth anyway, kiddo. God knows I paid enough for that idiot to be here.”

* * *

“So you know how my ball has gotten a bit scratched up over the past few weeks since we finished school?”

Arthur paused, glancing up from his book with an eyebrow raised. “Yes?” he asked, looking at the boy shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him.

“I was thinking I should get a new one to bring with me to school,” said Harry. “I don’t want to be embarrassed by people seeing my tatty football.”

“You can of course get a new one if you have the pocket money saved up to buy it,” replied Arthur, returning his gaze to his novel.

“But, Dad, come on. Then I’ll have no money to take with me if I blow it all on a ball. And I’ll need it for…stuff.”

“You should know the rules well enough by now, Harry.”

“I know, but I just thought that it _was_ my birthday-”

“Two weeks ago,” pointed out Arthur, turning a page. “And you already got your present for that.”

“Yeah. Er, well, don’t I deserve a present for getting into this fancy magical school in the first place? You know, like kids doing well in their GCSE’s or the eleven plus?”

Arthur snorted, looking up at Harry again. “Your name’s been down for Hogwarts since the day you were born. It’s not like you got into _RADA_. No one in Hogwarts cares about your talent or good behaviour so you didn’t have to achieve anything to get in that is worth us celebrating.”

Harry scowled, flopping dramatically down on the couch beside Arthur. “Why do you always make things so difficult?”

Acknowledging that his peaceful reading time had been ruined, Arthur set his book aside. “Because we love you and don’t want to see you spoiled rotten,” he said, diving on the boy suddenly and tickling him. Harry squirmed underneath him, shouting and laughing as he tried unsuccessfully to get him to stop.

“I don’t think there’s much point in you bringing a football anyway,” said Arthur a few minutes later as they lay breathing heavily together. “Wizards don’t play football.”

Harry bolted upright. “They _what_?”

“It’s a non-magical sport and like most non-magical things, they have very little time for it.”

Harry gaped at him in horror. “No football? What do they do with themselves then?”

Arthur smiled. “They play Quidditch. You’ll probably like it a lot, very daring and dangerous, on broomsticks.”

“I know I like flying, but no football?” Harry shook his head. “You should’ve told me this before I agreed to go.”

Arthur laughed, poking the child in the belly. “Had I known that this was what it would take to keep you here, believe me I would have told you.”

He pushed Harry off the couch and stood. “Come on, let’s go get some practise in.”

* * *

Harry stood awkwardly just inside the door of the shop, waiting for Helena to speak. He glanced over at her, noticing that she hadn’t removed either her hat or sunglasses on entering the shop. The place was dark and a little musty, and he wondered how she could see anything when he was struggling to look out of his normal glasses in the dark.

A woman popped out of nowhere suddenly, startling Harry. She was dressed all in black, dark like her shop. She introduced herself as Madam Malkin, which Harry realised was the name that had been above written on the outside of the building.

“We’re looking for school robes,” said Helena, a charming smile on her face. The seamstress smiled back.

“Of course, we’ve got the lot here. There’s another young man being fitted up just now in the back.” 

“I’ll be just outside,” said Helena, shooing him off to follow the woman. Harry gave her an angry glare before setting off.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

“Hullo,” said the boy, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” said Harry, watching the other child with interest.

“My father’s next door buying my books and my mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Harry tried to imagine bullying his dad into doing anything. No images came to mind, because he knew it would be an impossible task.

“Have _you_ got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“Yeah,” answered Harry. “A _Cleansweep Six_. It’s pretty old though, so it doesn’t go very fast anymore, you have to really encourage it to get it going.”

The other boy’s eyes lit up. “Well, father lets me use his _Comet 260_. Your broom must be useless for Quidditch. You do play, right?”

“No, I never have,” said Harry. “I’m the only one that really likes flying in our house so I wouldn’t have anyone to play it with. I thought people just used brooms for getting places. I didn’t know there was a sport.”

The boy stared at Harry in horror. “That’s awful. Quidditch is _going_ to have to be the first thing you learn at Hogwarts. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it, it’s not like we can choose where we end up, there’s not much point worrying about it.”

“Well I didn’t say I was _worried_ about it,” said the boy, nodding towards the window. “Is that your mother out there?”

Harry followed his gaze out the window. Helena was standing on the opposite side of the street, casually watching them from behind her sunglasses. She gave Harry a small wave when she caught him looking at her.

“No,” said Harry slowly. “That’s Helena. She’s not my mum, but she lives with me and Dad.”

“So she’s your step-mother then?”

“No,” said Harry, thinking about how to answer the question. “She’s not my step-mother, she’s just, well, Helena. She is my mum, I guess. She just doesn’t like to be called _mum._ ”

The other boy’s nose wrinkled. “She sounds a bit like my mother. Girls are weird.”

They fell into a comfortable silence that lasted until Madam Malkin said “That’s you done, my dear,” and Harry hopped down from his footstool.

“See you at Hogwarts!” called the boy, as Harry left the room. He shouted back a goodbye with a careless wave of his hand.

“Do you think you’ve cost me enough gold yet?” asked Helena as she handed over two bags of robes for him to carry. He took them with a sigh.

“No way,” replied Harry. “You haven’t bought me any ice-cream yet.”

She ruffled his hair before setting off in the direction of _Fortescue’s_. He hurried to follow her, bags feeling heavy already in his arms.

“I met one of my classmates,” said Harry, his mouth full of chocolate ice cream.

Helena’s eyes narrowed at him. “Talk with your mouth full again and I will seal your mouth shut permanently.”

He rolled his eyes. “There was a boy in the robe place,” he started again. “He’s going to Hogwarts too.”

“I know, I could see him through the window,” said Helena. “What was his name?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I forgot to ask.”

She pinched him. “You’ll have to do better than that if you expect to make any friends there.”

“He did say he was going to be in Slytherin.”

“And?” asked Helena, watching him lick sprinkles off the top of his cone.

“It’s just something I remembered about him,” said Harry.

“And what house did you tell him you wanted to be in?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. I don’t know enough about any of the houses to want to go into any one of them more than another.”

“I thought you have been reading _Hogwarts, a History_?”

“I have, but it’s not the same as being there and seeing them in real life, you know,” said Harry. “I’ll probably be in Hufflepuff anyway.”

Helena scoffed at his resigned tone. “You wish you were a good enough kid to end up in Hufflepuff. I have a reliable source who tells me they don’t accept brats like you into that house.”

Harry convinced her to buy him three books in addition to the reading list when they visited Flourish and Blotts.

“Don’t tell Arthur,” she said, as he hugged _Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much much more_ to his chest. “If he catches you with that, you’re on your own.”

She tapped twice on his books on the counter and they disappeared. Harry assumed they’d be waiting for him in his bedroom when they arrived home.

“If you’re doing that with the books, how come I’m still carrying these clothes?”

Helena winked at him. “You’ve got to feel some of the weight of money I am spending on you in order to fully appreciate its worth.”

The ingredients and equipment she bought him for Potions disappeared in the same way the books had. She had not looked at the list once as she selected everything he needed.

“If there’s one thing I would hope you manage better than me,” said Helena, as she scooped up glittery black beetle eyes, “It would be the art of potion making. The only talent I have for potions is to turn all of them into fatal messes.”

Harry consulted the school list himself. “Just a wand left to get.”

He expected Helena to wait outside like she had for the robes but instead she followed him into the tiny shop. “Too much errant magic,” she said, when he sent her a surprised look.

He looked around the place, taking in the thousands of narrow boxes piled from floor to ceiling everywhere around him. He could feel the magic in the air the same way he could feel the dust – heavy and making him a little uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Behind him, Helena had not moved at all.

“Hi,” said Harry, looking awkwardly at a small old man standing before him.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first want. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Harry took a step back towards Helena as the wizard talked, feeling uncomfortable at the man’s creepy stare. He jumped a little again but relaxed when he realised it was only Helena putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll forgive me, Mr Ollivander, for being rude,” she said, her voice cutting over the man’s as he began to talk again. “Fortunately for us, we did not come here for the history lesson but in fact to purchase a wand.”

Mr Ollivander looked most unimpressed at the interruption. He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “I’ll just get on with it, shall I?” he asked, sounding offended. Helena gave Harry a gentle push towards him, and watched closely as Mr Ollivander began to work. He could not seem to help but talk as he worked.

“Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tails feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

Harry stilled with alarm as he felt the tape measure pull across his face to gage the space between his nostrils.

“Why do I need a wand in the first place?” asked Harry, feeling relieved when the tape measure snapped shut and fell onto a table away from him.

“All wizards and witches need a magical conduit in order to express themselves magically in the world. For most, it is a wand but in some other cultures folk have been known to use other instruments like staffs or swords.”

Harry looked at Mr Ollivander in confusion. “But Helena doesn’t have a wand?”

The old wizard’s eyes slid past him to stare at Helena, an unreadable expression crossing his face. She stared back.

“My family were more purist in their approaches to magic, Harry,” she said, still staring at the man.

“Curious,” muttered Mr Ollivander. “Hundreds of years ago, wands were not as widely used as they are now. There were some groups out there who believed the use of a wand diluted a wizard or witch’s magic. They believed the body itself could act as enough of a conduit for magic if it was powerful enough, and that an external magical core such as a wand was not necessary. It is extremely rare for a witch or wizard of this age to complete more than the occasional simple spell without a wand.”

“Which is why we should be working on getting Harry his wand now,” said Helena pointedly.

Harry kept the wand box in one of his robe bags, his hands itching to hold it as they walked back through Diagon Alley. Spotting his twitching, Helena took the bag off him and carried it herself.

* * *

Harry stared skeptically at the wall in front of him, hands gripping tightly on his trolley.

“This is a joke right?” he asked, turning back to look at both adults. Neither of their faces comforted him, grinning stupidly back at him.

“Of course it’s not,” said Arthur. “How else would you expect to get to a platform that is nine and three quarters?”

Helena burst out laughing beside him, causing Harry to scowl. “You’re supposed to be nice to me, I’m leaving soon and going away for ages!”

“Oh yes,” said Helena. “I forgot we’re supposed to be really nice to you in case you change your mind and decide not to go. Stop laughing, Arthur, we’ve got to make sure he leaves or else we’ll never have our fun.”

Arthur came up behind Harry suddenly. “Come on, kiddo, you know we would never do anything to hurt you,” he said, touching Harry on the back. The boy relaxed into the touch but the relief lasted mere seconds before it turned to fear. Harry shouted when we felt himself being pushed forwards, trolley flying ahead of him. He could hear laughter in the background over his own yelling, the arms leaving his waist just as he was coming into contact with the wall. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the crash but slid right through, coming to a sudden stop on the other side.

He turned in amazement to look back at the wall, just in time to see Helena and Arthur come through. They were still smiling and laughing, his dad with an arm slung around Helena’s waist affectionately.

“I can’t believe that worked,” said Harry, catching his heart still racing. “It made no sense.”

“You’re in the magical world now, Harry,” said Helena. “Very little about it makes sense.”

The three of them walked through the crowds of people together, approaching the huge scarlet and black train that whistled ahead of them. Harry looked at it in awe, his stomach flipping over nervously.

“It’s just a train,” said Arthur.

“I’m more worried about the people on the train,” said Harry. “And the place it’s going to bring me too.”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t like it,” said Arthur. “There are always other options that we can work on together if this one isn’t for you. Besides, I happen to know someone who would be able to break you out of that castle if we needed too.”

Harry looked between them. “This will be the longest time I’ll have been away from you since you took me in.”

“And you will barely noticed the weeks fly by until you see us at Christmas, and then at Easter and then for the whole summer,” said Helena with a small smile.

Harry launched himself at them, wrapping one arm around each adult. They hooked their arms around him too, crushing him in a tight hug.

“I’m sure we make a funny sight,” said Arthur, not letting go. “We are most definitely ruining your big bad boy reputation with this hug right now.”

“I don’t care,” said Harry, his voice muffled from where he was pressed into them. “This is the one time you’re allowed to hug me in public, Dad.”

They stood together until the last possible moment, rushing in the end to lift all of his luggage onto the train before it departed. Arthur and Helena stood watching, one of his hands still holding her while the other waved at Harry. They watched as his face grew smaller and smaller until before long, it faded away entirely.

“This is the first time in many centuries that I feel every single year of my age,” said Arthur.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_It is very strange for us to see an owl arrive with a letter from you. Although you have been gone for three whole days already, it is hard for us to believe that you are not just hiding in your room. We have barely noticed your absence at all and feel much happier without having a grumpy ‘almost teenager’ lazing about the house. I am a little disappointed you discovered Hogwart’s owling system so soon – it would have been great to go at least a week before we heard from you again. I’ve been thinking about it and really, the 14 weeks until you come home again just isn’t enough. Do you think Headmaster Dumblebore will extend the school calendar if I write to him and ask nicely? I’m not sure I’m ready to have you back here. You’re very loud and messy and I almost didn’t notice while you were living here, making big messes and being loud. But now in your absence, I notice it._

_You will have to wait longer for Arthur’s reply to you. Your letter arrived after he left for work today so he hasn’t had the chance to read it yet. He will be very upset I read it without him. Maybe I will reseal it and pretend I didn’t. Don’t give me away when you write to him next. Like me, he will tell you in his letter that he does not miss you at all. Unlike me, he’s lying. I know that he will tell you these lies because he wants you to enjoy yourself and not worry about his hurt feelings, because he misses you terribly. He has done little except mope about you since you left. It gets very irritating and I’m thinking of getting a dog or something to distract him. Maybe when you come back at Christmas you can pick one out. We’ll convince him that it’s a great idea together._

_I can tell from your letter that you are a little concerned about what he will think about the Sorting. I can assure you Harry that he will be most annoyed by it for one reason only – that I correctly predicted where you would end up and he did not. I probably shouldn’t tell you that we have been betting on this outcome for several years now, and I know he will be sorry to lose as always. But beyond that, Arthur will not really care. For some strange reason I haven’t figured out yet, he knows and loves you more than anyone else on this planet or beyond. He is forever proud of you, no matter what house you belong to._

_Knowing you, Harry, I imagine you are eager to explore your new home. Perhaps you have started already. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you of what I told you before you left home. Hogwarts is a beautiful and special place, but it is full of many dangers too. Help can always be found if you know where to look, and we are never too far away to aid you too._

_For now, I have little else to say. It is remarkable I have put down so many words already. I cautiously look forward to reading about your new experiences in school and relive the childhood I never had through you. No pressure._

_I’ll be waiting._

_Helena_

_P.S. I hope you like the owl. Her name is Hedwig._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you are safe and well wherever you are, and especially to my brother and sister healthcare workers all around the world I send you warm virtual hugs and good vibes.


	3. Firstly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the first year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glimpses of Harry's first year in Hogwarts! Some scenes have been glossed over and omitted entirely on account of this 'brief' part being more than 9,000 words (oops). I hope it mostly makes sense. Anything that's majorly glossed over, you can assume happens pretty similarly as the original and as with the last chapter, some dialogue is lifted from "The Philosopher's Stone". 
> 
> For me this and probably the next chapter are quite filler-y - I would love to skip them and jump more into the actual action that will build as Harry gets older and Arthur, Helena and Merlin become more important to the plot. But I suppose if I'm giving you an Alternate!Harry I've got to kind of explain where he's come from, hence these chapters! There's probably a good few mistakes in this too, I find myself too lazy to do a great edit. Apologies in advance!

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“ _Potter_ , did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting…So where shall I put you?”

Harry felt his heart rate rise as the seconds ticked by without the hat’s decision. He tried to keep himself calm, memories of home and Arthur and Helena coming to mind. He thought about all of the times he had waited to be picked for sports teams with one of their reassuring hands on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what team you play for,” said the memory Arthur with a comforting smile.

“As long as it’s the winning one,” added the Helena, her smile reminding him more of a shark.

“Ah,” said the small voice, speaking again. “A Gryffindor and a Slytherin in Hufflepuff’s clothing.”

Harry froze. “You can see them inside my head too?” thought Harry.

“Naturally,” replied the hat. “I am inside your head after all. It is very confusing in here, do you know what you want at all?”

“No,” replied Harry. “I don’t know what house I want to go to. I just want to go where I can do my best.”

“Well if that’s the truth, one house will help you most on your way to greatness – better be SLYTHERIN.”

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and stood up, eyes darting around the place. For the first time that night, the Hall was completely silent despite the hundreds of faces it contained. They stared at him in shock, many mouths hanging open and eyebrows raised. He felt a rush of embarrassment and his cheeks reddened, dropping the hat carelessly on the stool behind him. It emitted a quiet groan which he ignored as he began the walk over to the Slytherin house table. The hall was still silent by the time Harry reached an empty seat, hovering awkwardly as everyone continued to watch him, including his new housemates.

The spell of silence was broken finally with the sound of laughter. Harry tracked the noise to the High Table where, he guessed, the teachers were sitting. His eyes moved down the line until he spotted the laughing one: a man dressed entirely in black with long greasy hair. The laugh did not sound happy or pleasant to Harry, but instead a little mean. He felt relieved regardless of the intention as it spurred the entire Slytherin table into action. The students climbed to their feet and clapped and howled, leaving Harry baffled. He heard a couple of boos come from students from other tables, but he felt he couldn’t be bothered by them. At the table, students were patting and hugging him in celebration.

“QUIET!” shouted Professor McGonagall, her voice echoing around the Hall.

Harry slid into a seat with a grin on his face, watching as the teacher called for order again. The applause faded and the sorting continued. He found himself only half watching a girl called Lisa take the stool, more interested in watching the Slytherins around him. He smiled shyly at the boy sitting opposite him, unable to remember his name even though he had been just ahead of Harry in the sorting queue. The boy grinned back.

“Do you know who that is?” asked Harry, nodding his head in the direction of the High Table. “The man who laughed at my sorting?”

The boy scoffed at Harry. “Do you really not know?” Harry shook his head in response. “You have a lot to learn about Slytherin. That’s Professor Snape, he’s our Head of House. He’s supposed to be the one who makes sure we’re not getting into trouble and bringing Slytherin house into disrepute. At least, that’s what my dad says.”

Harry frowned at him. “What does _disrepute_ mean?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t really know, I didn’t want to ask. My name’s Theodore Nott by the way.” He held out a hand for Harry to shake. It felt a little formal to him, but he shook hands anyway, not wanting to seem rude. “There’s a lot of politics in this house that you’re going to have to get used to, most of us learn about it at home.”

“My parents weren’t Slytherins,” said Harry, unsure which set he referred to but he quickly realised it didn’t matter. “So I don’t know much more than what I read in _Hogwarts, a History.”_

“That’s fine,” said Theodore, his voice dampened by the thundering applause of the Gryffindor table as another student was sorted there. “I’d say you’ll learn it all really fast being here. You might not survive otherwise.”

Harry swallowed nervously at the words, but assumed the other boy was joking considering he was still smiling.

* * *

Long after dinner was over, he lay in his new bed, wide awake despite the absolute darkness in the dorm. He did not know what time it was because they didn’t seem to believe in clocks at Hogwarts but he could guess it was late. Around him, one or two of the boys snored quietly, and Harry reckoned that Blaise Zabini had said at least three words in his sleep so far.

A few tears leaked from his eyes. He tried to sniff them away without moving too much or making a sound. It felt strange to be lying in a different bed in a whole different country and on his own. Harry wished desperately that he was at home, able to get a hug and raid the fridge for a snack to take the edge off his late night hunger.

“Harry Potter?” came a whisper out of the darkness. He sat up immediately, trying to identify which boy had caught him crying. To his left, Draco Malfoy waved at him, Harry’s eyes only just catching the movement in the darkness.

“Do you miss home?” asked Draco, still whispering.

“Yeah,” said Harry as quietly as he could.

“I miss it too, and my parents. And the house elves. If you thought dinner was good, you have got to try the food at Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts doesn’t even begin to compare in taste and…”

He listened to Draco drone on about his home until eventually, he fell asleep.

* * *

Harry watched as Theodore stumbled out of the office, catching onto a wall with his hands to right himself. He scowled when he noticed Harry looking at him, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“How was it?” asked Harry, unable to stop himself.

The boy pulled a face. “It was fine, I think he’s a bit grouchy but-” Theodore stopped talking upon being interrupted.

“ _Potter_.”

Both boys jumped at the drawling voice, Theodore moving further away from the door and Harry leaping towards it.

“I guess I had better go in,” said Harry, biting his lip and motioning to the office door between them.

Theodore nodded. “Yeah don’t keep him waiting, he won’t like that.”

Harry knocked lightly on the door before he pushed it open, moving cautiously into the office. He glanced around, eyes taking in the shelves that lined each wall. Hundreds of jars and boxes and packets of different shapes and sizes filled each shelf. Some caught his gaze more than others and he found himself walking towards a glittering purple bottle to his left with his arm outstretched for no reason he could identify.

“Do _not_ touch that, Potter,” came an exasperated voice from the centre of the room. Harry blinked and dropped his arm, feeling as if a spell holding him had broken. He looked at the bottle, and then turned to look at the teacher who had spoken. Professor Snape sat at a round table, books piled on either side of him. He had a quill in his right hand that was hovering above a blank piece of parchment.

Harry walked away from the shelf and sat down across from the wizard.

“I will make this quick, Potter, as I have no desire to talk with you for any length of time that is not absolutely necessary,” said Professor Snape.

“Yessir,” replied Harry quietly. He tried to squash the nervous feeling in his belly, fidgeting with his hands.

“I have no doubt that you will find your time in Slytherin House a difficult one,” began Snape, his eyes boring into Harry’s. “Potters have long been sorted into Gryffindor. I imagine your ancestors are presently rolling around in their graves.”

Harry snorted at the image in spite of himself, feeling a little fear when Snape gave him a look.

“It will be an adjustment period for us all, having a Potter in Slytherin. You must expect that while some of your housemates will struggle with that information, it will be nothing in comparison to the harassment you will receive from students in other houses. Regardless of that fact, I expect the behaviour of my students to be nothing less than perfect _particularly_ outside of our dungeons. Any Slytherin who finds him or herself reprimanded by another teacher will require divine intervention to save them from the punishment that will follow when I find out about it. Have I made myself clear?”

Harry hadn’t understood all of the words that the teacher had used, but he had no issue understanding the tone. He nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak without sounding terrified. Snape stared at him for a few seconds longer before breaking the eye contact. His wand suddenly appeared in his right hand in place of the quill that had been there. He pointed it at a spot on the table just in front of Harry. A small pile of parchment appeared instantly.

“You will find your timetable for classes there. Ensure that you are never late. Go, and send Ms Parkinson in.”

With another nod, Harry quickly gathered the documents off the table and fled the room. He passed Pansy Parkinson on his way out.

“Is he really that scary?” called Pansy as he walked away. Harry stammered in response, as Snape had scared him but also he felt a little nervous talking to a girl. She looked at his anxious face and tossed her hair, stomping into the office in a way that made Harry question why she wasn’t in Gryffindor.

* * *

He watched Draco take Neville Longbottom’s ball in hand and fling it as far as he could. Harry listened to the Gryffindor protests around them, mostly defending Neville despite the fact that he knew that most of them didn’t talk to the other boy at all. House pride, Harry guessed, and unity in the face of Slytherin.

Harry figured he could have caught the ball had he used his broom, but he didn’t. He left it hovering in the air beside him, hand running up and down its wood. He didn’t like the way Draco spoke or acted, reminding Harry of a boy he had known years and years ago who was also a bully. But, Harry thought as the Rememberall sailed further and further away, Neville Longbottom was probably much better off without such a stupid item anyway.

* * *

Arthur sighed at the expression on her face. “What is it?”

She held a piece of parchment out to him. He took it gingerly between two fingertips. “Apparently they had a nice surprise in Hogwarts for Halloween,” said Helena, sarcasm dripping from her words.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” asked Arthur, quickly skimming through the letter. He felt his blood pressure rise as he moved down the paragraphs.

“A _mountain troll_ in a school!” exclaimed Arthur. “And the first we’re hearing of it is the kid sending a letter with a throwaway line about it? What is _wrong_ with that place?”

* * *

Harry sat with his dorm-mates at breakfast watching as Hagrid and Filch lugged in Christmas decorations to fill the Hall. He couldn’t quite work out why the men weren’t using magic, thinking that surely a levitation charm would be much easier than wobbling on abnormally tall ladders.

“That oaf wouldn’t even know how to hold a wand,” said Draco nastily when he spoke his thoughts allowed. “A half-breed squib, I imagine.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask what he meant but didn’t have time to before Draco continued talking.

“I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all. Harry followed his gaze to the Gryffindor table, where Ron Weasley was arguing with his twin brothers over a bit of sausage. He felt a pang of jealousy that the other boy had siblings at school to help him out.

“The Weasleys aren’t going home then?”

“Of course not, their mother can barely afford to feed them at all, she’ll keep them here for as long as she can,” said Draco knowingly. “You’re going home, aren’t you Harry?”

He nodded, realising that it was the first time any of the Slytherins had asked about his home life. Considering how often people asked him about his supposed killing Voldermort and his parents’ murders as a baby, it seemed strange that no one questioned where he lived now.

“Yeah, I’m going home,” said Harry, feeling happy at the prospect.

* * *

He skipped down the stairs at a breakneck speed, running for the living room and rushing in with excitement. “Presents!” yelled Harry, looking at the packages wrapped underneath the tree with glee. He reached forward to grab the largest one that had his name written in Helena’s writing on the label. He snatched his hand back with a wince after touching it, his fingers lightly burnt.

“The rules haven’t changed since you went to school,” said Helena from behind him, sounding very amused. Harry cradled his hand to his chest, not even bothering to ask her to heal him. He already knew that she wouldn’t.

“I shouldn’t be punished just because it takes Dad forever to get himself down here,” argued Harry. “I want to open the presents.”

Helena rolled her eyes, coming to sit on the couch so that she was beside where he was flopped on the floor. Arthur appeared in the doorway a second later, his hair messy and his eyes glazed over as though he were half asleep.

“Honestly, Harry,” he muttered. “You’re too old to be up this early in the morning.”

“It’s Christmas,” replied Harry. “There’s no such thing as being up too early on Christmas Day.”

He reached again for his pile of gifts, noting that no curses attacked him for touching them. He unwrapped the presents with all of the care an eleven year old could manage, taking time between each one to add a comment and a _thank you_ to the adults. When the time came to open his final present, Harry reckoned he had already done pretty well. He had an assortment of items from books to clothes to football gear, as well as his most prized gift that came every year: a season ticket for _Chelsea_. He reached for the last bundle with a look of surprise.

“How come you changed the wrapping paper?” asked Harry, feeling the shiny material.

Arthur exchanged a look with Helena. “We didn’t leave that one for you,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure where it came from.”

Harry looked between them. “Can I still open it?”

Helena shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

He noticed how light the parcel was as he took away the covering. A fluid and silvery grey thing slithered to the floor, lying there in gleaming folds. He picked it up, running the material over his hands and watching the way the cloth caught the light.

“What is it?” asked Harry, his eyes not leaving the present. When neither adult responded to him, he glanced up. His dad was looking at Helena again while she was gazing at the thing in Harry’s hands.

“It’s an Invisibility Cloak,” she said, reaching down to take the cloth off him. He allowed her take it without complaint, and she wrapped it around his shoulders, letting it fall over the bottom half of his body. “Look.”

Harry looked down to find that every part of him below his shoulders had disappeared. He imagined it looked like his head was floating.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, pulling the cloak off himself. He stood up and threw it over Arthur, laughing hysterically when the man disappeared. “Who sent me this?”

“There’s a note on the floor,” said Helena as her husband reappeared. “Maybe that would be a good thing to read.”

Harry left the cloak on Arthur’s lap and picked up the letter. He read it aloud for both of them to hear.

“‘Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you.’ That’s all it says, they didn’t leave their name. A bit strange, isn’t it?”

“Very strange,” said Arthur, folding the material into a neat square.

“Is it normal for wizards to have Invisibility Cloaks?”

“Not at all,” answered Helena. “And most of them are not as precious as that one. I would assume it is a Potter family heirloom.”

“I’m allowed to keep it though, right?”

“Sure,” said Arthur. “But don’t you dare lose it, or go around telling people you have it. A magical item like that is priceless. I wouldn’t like to think about what some wizards would do to get it off you.”

* * *

He liked to study in the library, away from the Slytherin common areas. It wasn’t that they were too noisy or busy for him to work inside them – in fact there was a very studious air amongst the other children who gathered there. Most of them were a little competitive, finding themselves comparing the length and quality of their work in a way that bothered Harry, who knew he was fairly average in most of his classes. He kept instead to his same desk in the library, secretly carving his initials into a small corner of the wood as many students had done before him, in a sort of territorial claim.

He found himself watching Hermione Granger on a desk near his when his mind wandered away from his essays or textbooks. Unlike him, she never seemed to day dream – she was constantly writing, anytime he looked at her. He noticed that she was always in the library before him, and he reckoned she probably stayed way later than him too, picking up books that definitely were not on their reading lists. He thought that she was a little obsessive about their school work, and he cringed when she made a show of herself in classes, talking too much or knowing every answer. He felt the need to educate her that their fellow students would never like her if she continued the way she did, but he knew he couldn’t. Slytherins and Gryffindors just didn’t mix.

Harry decided that was rubbish after a long day of classes, watching the stream of tears fall down the girl’s face. He looked around quickly, realising that they were the only two people around and stood up, walking over to her table. She glanced up when he arrived, needlessly pressing hands to her eyes to hide the fact that she was crying.

“What do you want?” snapped Hermione, her voice muffled behind her hands.

Harry hesitated. “I just wanted to see if you were ok,” he replied.

She sat up straighter and sniffed, but did not uncover her face. “Are you going to make fun of me too?”

His brow furrowed. “Who’s making fun of you already?”

Hermione looked up at him slowly, her eyes still glistening with tears. “Just about everybody, haven’t you noticed?”

He hadn’t really. “No, sorry. I don’t really pay attention to you Gryffindors.”

“Well the people from _your_ house haven’t been very nice either.”

“Sorry,” said Harry helplessly. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

It was enough to make her perk up and look at him in deep consideration. They sat together for long enough for Harry to decide he liked Hermione Granger, when she toned down her know-it-all attitude that was. He made a decision the next day upon seeing her in the dungeons and slammed his bag down on the stool beside her. She turned and smiled shyly at him, pulling out her notebook and quill. Professor Snape spotted them a few minutes later.

“You two are sitting together?” asked Snape slowly, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Yeah,” said Harry, while Hermione nodded enthusiastically beside him.

“Very well then. See to it that Miss Granger does not whisper too much in your ear, Mr Potter. She has the insufferable habit of talking incessantly.”

Harry bit his lip to hide his grin as the teacher walked away from their desk. He glanced at Hermione and saw she had turned bright red, her mouth forced closed as if she was trying to stop herself from saying something. She spotted him looking and shoved him, sending his quill flying off the desk. Both students stared in horror as Snape spun around and considered the quill on the floor before meeting their gazes. The man rolled his eyes and moved on to interrogate a new student, leaving Hermione to levitate the quill back to Harry’s hand with an apologetic smile.

“That’s disgusting,” whispered someone behind him. He turned his head to see that it was Ron Weasley, sitting beside another Gryffindor whose name Harry didn’t know. “Traitors to both their houses, they are.”

He was not the only one to believe it. His dorm-mates surrounded him after he left the dungeon, led by Draco Malfoy.

“You can’t be serious,” said Draco, standing with his hands on his hips. Harry gazed around the circle, noting that Theodore and Blaise looked significantly less angry than the other boys.

“About what?” asked Harry, eyes returning to the blond boy.

“You can’t just sit in a class with a Gryffindor,” said Draco, as if Harry was incredibly stupid. “You’re ruining our reputation, mixing with someone like that.”

“She’s my friend,” replied Harry simply, ignoring the fact that he’d been talking to Hermione for less than twenty four hours.

Draco’s anger appeared to grow. “She’s a _mudblood_ , she isn’t worth sitting in the same room as you, let alone beside you or touching your stuff.”

Harry peered at Theodore, noticing that he was staring at his shoes uncomfortably. “What’s a mud-blood?”

There was a titter of laughter from Vince and Greg. “It’s someone who comes from a non-magical family, Harry,” said Blaise quietly. “They have dirty magical blood, because they don’t come from a long line of wizards and witches, there’s too much Muggle mixed in.”

Harry frowned. “What’s wrong with Muggles?”

“They are completely inferior to us,” answered Draco snottily. “They don’t deserve to live amongst us, and wizards that get themselves mixed up with them are traitors to their own blood.”

Harry grew upset at the words, thoughts turning to his dad, a Muggle, and Helena, a witch who had married him. He could not believe that either of them were inferior to Draco’s parents, or any of the other boys who surrounded him. Harry knew what kind of people they were far better than these kids who had never met them before. He wondered if Draco had ever met a Muggle at all, despite claiming to be superior to them.

_You should never start the fight_ , his dad had said to him once as he cleaned scrapes on Harry’s hands that had come from a school yard scrap. _But if someone starts a fight with you or someone you care about, you make sure you finish it._

_There’s no point in being an honourable fighter,_ Helena had added, _Dirty fighters might leave the battlefield filthy, but at least they leave it._

Draco was talking again, but Harry wasn’t listening. He slowly withdrew his wand from his robes so that he did not alert the other boys to his intentions. He moved it up to be in line with the blond student’s mouth so fast that Draco did not even have time to flinch at the impending spell.

“ _Langlock_ ,” said Harry, watching without amusement as Draco’s hands flew to his throat. His face began to turn purple from the effort he was putting into attempting to talk. Around him, the boys cried out in surprise, none of them thinking to pull their wands out and help their housemate.

Harry moved his wand again, performing the arc needed for a second spell. “ _Flip-”_

_“Expelliarmus!”_

Harry’s wand flew from his hand, cutting his incantation short. He turned his head to follow it fly through the air where it was caught by Professor Snape. The expression on his face was not a happy one. 

“Just _what_ do you think you are all doing?” asked Snape, his voice deathly calm. Harry swallowed nervously and in his peripheral vision, he saw the other boys twitch nervously.

No one answered the teacher. Draco, unable to say anything, pointed frantically at his neck. Snape cancelled the jinx holding him silent with a flick of his wand.

“Sir, Potter jinxed me!”

“Be quiet, Malfoy,” hissed Snape. “I do not need you to tell me what is abundantly clear. You both will be serving detention.”

“But sir!” cried Malfoy. Harry didn’t bother saying anything, certain his fate had already been sealed.

“Do not question me on this, Mr Malfoy, you will not win this argument. You are already late for your next class and if I hear of either of you fighting your housemates within these walls, you will be wishing that the only thing I do to you is give you detention.”

That night, Harry leapt out of his bed seconds after climbing into it. He heard several sniggers in the darkness, lighting his wand to see that his bed sheets had been smeared with a slimy and stinky substances. Realising with a sigh that he did not know any cleaning spells, Harry lifted the single clean pillow off the bed and tucked it under his arm. He went to sleep on one of the sofas in the Common Room, waving two fingers at Draco’s bed as he walked by it. Harry didn’t know if the other boy would see his gesture in the dark, or even understand what it meant given it was Muggle in origin. He didn’t care, feeling slightly better at having done it anyway.

* * *

By the time Harry arrived for his first detention, Draco was already there, waiting impatiently beside Filch. He seemed to look at anything around them except for Harry, finding one of the portraits behind his head particularly interesting. Harry looked at Filch who glared back as nastily as ever.

“Are we going to get started?” asked Harry tentatively.

“Still waitin’ on two of you little buggers,” answered Filch. “Never on time, you students, are you?”

It took several more minutes of awkward waiting for Ron Weasley to come skipping into the corridor, followed closely by Neville Longbottom. Harry frowned when he spotted them.

“What are you two doing here?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Got detention, didn’t we genius?” he snapped at Harry. Neville, still standing behind him, said nothing.

While receiving a series of rants from the caretaker, the students trudged after him in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. The realisation of what was to come appeared to hit all the students at once.

“The forest?” asked Draco, fear obvious in his voice. “We can’t go in there at night – what about the werewolves?”

Neville took a step closer to Harry, who wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know how to stop a werewolf either.

Filch handed them over to Hagrid, who led them even closer to the forest. Harry found himself walking as closely to the man as possible, feeling that his towering height would be useful if anything came out of the forest to attack them. The other boys trailed a little further behind.

“I s’pose we haven’t really met yet, have we?” said Hagrid suddenly, looking at Harry as they walked. “How are you settlin’ in?”

Harry shrugged, not sure what to say. “Pretty good, I guess, when I’m not in detention at least.”

Hagrid snorted. “This yer first one?” Harry nodded. “It’ll be the first of many so I imagine. Yer father used to get himself into detention all the time.”

That caught Harry’s attention, realising with a jolt that the wizard was referring to his long-dead dad, not the one in London. “You knew my father?”

“Yeah, I did. Been workin’ here a long time, haven’ I? Yer da was a student here an’ he used to get himself in trouble all the time.”

Harry’s curiosity was peaked at the mention of his father, but he did not have time to respond. They had reached the very edge of the forest, Neville stumbling awkwardly into his back. Harry only half-listened as Hagrid explained the plight of the dying unicorns, separating them into groups and sending Draco and Ron away with his dog and leading Neville and Harry in another direction.

Harry peppered the man with questions about the monsters that lived in the forest as they walked, Neville flinching at the mention of each one. They had wandered around, searching for their unknown foe, for what felt like hours when Neville squeaked:

“Red sparks, look Hagrid! The others must be in trouble!”

Hagrid went crashing away with an order for them to stay put. Both boys stood looking at each other, Neville wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.

“Do you feel like it got colder out here?” he asked. Harry agreed, spinning around suddenly when he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him.

It sounded far too light to be the thundering footsteps of Hagrid, and Harry guessed it was someone a little further away because he could not see anyone at first. He took a few steps forward, ignoring Neville’s cry of complaint and pushing into another clearing in the trees. He saw something then, bright white and gleaming on the ground, and inched even closer to it.

Harry reached with one hand to pet the mane of the unicorn, catching its silvery hair between his fingers. It looked and felt like nothing he had ever touched before, almost oozing magic out into his skin. It made him sad suddenly, to see such a beautiful creature dead before him. He thought it must have been even prettier when living and breathing.

All thoughts left his mind when a bush on the edge of the clearing quivered. Out of the shadows a hooded figure came crawling across the ground towards him and the unicorn. Harry scrambled backwards, stopped in his escape by a tree trunk that blocked his route. The hooded figure raised its and head and looked right at Harry, unicorn blood already dribbling down the front of the cloak. A pain pierced his head, one like he’d never felt before, and his vision wobbled.

He woke up to find a centaur looking at him, with white-blond hair not dissimilar from Draco’s.

“Are you all right?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

“Yes – thank you – what _was_ that?”

The centaur looked carefully at Harry, eyes drifting to the scar on his forehead. He clapped a hand over it, feeling self-conscious that even a being from the Forbidden Forest wanted to stare at his scar.

“What was that thing?” repeated Harry. “Why was it drinking the unicorn’s blood?”

“It is a monstrous thing to slay a unicorn,” said the centaur. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself and you will have but a half life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

“But who would want that?” questioned Harry, “Surely being dead is better than living your life cursed?”

“It is,” agreed the centaur. “However not everyone believes that to be the truth. Some creatures fear death so greatly they will go to incredible lengths to avoid it, even at the cost of their natural essence, and in this case, their humanity.”

“That – that _thing_ was human?”

“Yes, one of your very own kind, I assume you can guess at which one.”

Harry could guess because he had heard many whispers. They followed him around Hogwarts, usually mentioned quickly after someone referenced his scar. He had asked Helena about the rumours again at Christmas, even though she had given him an abridged version of the story before he had began school.

_He’s gone,_ she had said, _missing for the last decade. Many wizards think he is dead, but they are being stupid. You should never believe your enemy is dead until you’ve verified his corpse and incinerated it yourself._

_What if he comes after me?_ Harry had asked.

_He will come after you at some point, Harry, but hopefully it will not be for many years yet. When he does, you will see for yourself the problems he encounters, because there are lot of magical protections floating about in your blood._

“I do know who you’re talking about,” said Harry. “Did he come here for me?”

“I don’t think so, Mr Potter,” said the centaur. “I think he came instead for something that will bring him back to his full strength and power, something that will mean he can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in this school at this very moment?”

Harry shook his head, but the centaur did not answer as Hagrid came bursting through the trees, followed closely by a puffing Neville and sweating Draco.

* * *

Harry was almost vibrating with the need to talk to someone about what had happened in the forest. Neither himself nor Draco said a word to the other boys upon being deposited back to the dungeons, and when Harry woke the next morning he was the only one left in the dorm. He rushed straight to his Transfiguration class without breakfast, trying to ignore the suspicious look Professor McGonagall gave him when she noticed him huffing for breath. He didn’t catch Hermione until lunchtime, pulling her by the elbow out of the Great Hall to the disbelief of Ron, but the other student didn’t say anything to either of them.

“I cannot believe any of this actually happened,” said Hermione after he had filled her in. They sat together on a bank of the Great Lake, watching a duck swim that had a leopard-print pattern on his feathers. “Could you imagine what would happen if something like this occurred at a Muggle school?”

“I don’t think the school would be open for very much longer,” said Harry. “Come to think of it, if I tell my parents about last night Hogwarts might not be open for very much longer either.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t tell my parents half of what goes on here. They would’ve pulled me out when the troll escaped otherwise.”

“What do you think it is?” asked Harry, splitting a blade of grass between his fingers. “The thing that they’re hiding here, that Voldemort wants.”

“It’s obviously something that can make him better, isn’t it? If he really is half-dead, it must be something that heals him but I don’t know what. They must be hiding it on the third floor, do you remember what Headmaster Dumbledore said at the opening feast? That it was off limits. It has to be up there.”

“Seems a bit stupid, doesn’t it, to tell us where they’ve hidden it,” said Harry. “We wouldn’t know where in the castle it was otherwise, and neither would anyone trying to steal it.”

“There’s got to be other things protecting it too…enchantments and traps. Maybe the Headmaster is hoping to trap Voldemort when he comes to get it.”

They concluded, in the final minutes of their lunchtime, that the whole situation required more research. Harry allowed himself to be directed in his reading by Hermione over the weeks that followed.

“I am not sure what exact project you and Miss Granger are completing,” said Snape a few weeks later, his eyes focused on Harry’s. “However I find it pertinent to remind you that the third floor is out of bounds for all students for important reasons, as is the restricted section of the library.”

He waited for Harry to nod nervously before he moved on. Later upon joining Hermione in the library, he repeated the professor’s words in a shaky breath.

“Whatever they have got up there has got to be important, I’m sure they’re looking after it themselves,” said Hermione. “Maybe Professor Snape is right and we should stop trying to figure it out.”

That night, Harry wrote on a spare bit of parchment:

_What kind of magical item is so precious that anyone who knew where it was would want to steal it? Hypothetically (Hermione taught me that word). _

The reply appeared on his desk the next day in the middle of a Charms lesson. He looked around slyly, not wanting to raise any suspicion, but was unable to find an owl to explain its sudden appearance. He eased the envelope open carefully.

_Speaking hypothetically_, _although I suspect Hermione will have to remind you of the meaning of that word – the answer to your question could be any number of things. However the fact that someone might wish to steal the item suggests that it is something that is either incredibly rare or alternatively is incredibly expensive to buy. There are a few categories of magical object that fit those explanations. I would guess that hypothetically you may be thinking about an item that provides the owner with something priceless – endless wealth, necromancy, or immortality. The exact presentation of the item is probably not as important as the power it contains. An old sock that brings the dead to life is equally as important as a book that does the same. _

“What’s ne-cro-mancy?” asked Harry later, after Hermione had read the brief letter through several times.

“It’s the dark practice of magic involving the dead,” explained Hermione. “It can refer to anything from raising zombies to just communicating with the spirits of the dead.”

“Communicating with the spirits of the dead,” repeated Harry slowly, thinking about the words. “That’s it, Hermione!”

“Sorry, what are you talking about?”

“We can communicate with the spirits of the dead too, maybe they’ll be able to tell us something about what’s going on in the castle!”

“Harry,” said Hermione, her voice exasperated. “We can’t practice _necromancy_ -”

“No, no that wasn’t what I meant,” he replied quickly. “We can talk to the school ghosts!”

It took little convincing for Hermione to leave the empty classroom with him and set out in search of a target. She had put forth a logical argument for hunting down the Gryffindor spirit, Nearly-Headless Nick, in the belief that he would talk the most to them. Having tried once to make conversation with the Bloody Baron over breakfast, Harry had reluctantly agreed.

They found the ghost floating on the seventh floor, not far from Gryffindor Tower. Harry didn’t know the location of the house until his friend pointed it out, having tried to stay as far away from the place as possible. He felt a little uncomfortable being so close to the house, wondering what the Weasley twins would do to him if they caught him hanging out near their portrait.

Harry had never had the pleasure of speaking to the Gryffindor ghost before, and soon after meeting him, he wished that was still the case.

“Yes, I appreciate that must have been difficult for you, Sir Nick,” Hermione was saying as Harry tuned back into the conversation. “We were hoping though that you might be able to help us answer a few questions about the castle.”

“Of course,” said the ghost, bowing to them dramatically. Harry’s stomach flipped over uneasily when its head flopped forward on its own devices. “How may I be of service, my dear students?”

“We wanted to know about the third floor,” said Harry. “We were wondering what you could tell us about the magical object the teachers are protecting up there.”

Nick did not sigh, although he looked as if he wanted to. “I am afraid I am not permitted to reveal such secrets held by the faculty of this school,” said the ghost, drifting away from them. The children looked at each other briefly before running after him.

“Please, Sir Nicholas,” said Hermione, slightly out of breath as she struggled to keep up. “Has anyone directly forbidden you from telling us about the third floor?”

The spirit hesitated. “No, they have not.”

“Then why can’t you tell us?” asked Harry.

“I fear Headmaster Dumbledore would not be pleased if he knew I shared such secrets with our youngest students.”

“Well he didn’t say we couldn’t know what was there either,” pointed out Hermione. “He only told us not to go looking for it!”

“This is really important,” added Harry, “We think Voldemort is going to try to steal it.”

Nick stopped so suddenly that Hermione walked straight through him, shivering uncontrollably as she did.

“My dear students, the wizard you speak of is dead,” said Nick. Harry thought he looked a little paler than he had before but it was impossible to tell. He was a ghost, after all.

“Actually, we think he’s only half-dead,” said Harry. “I saw him in the Forbidden Forest, drinking unicorn blood. A centaur called Firenze, he told me that he was going to steal something from this castle to bring himself back to life.”

The knight looked in horror between the two of them. “I fear I do not like half of what goes on in this school anymore,” said Nick dramatically. “You need not worry anyhow, children. Flamel’s stone is perfectly safe, wrapped under the enchantments that the teachers of this school have crafted to protect it.”

With that, the ghost floated away leaving the students behind him in the hallway, staring in shock at each other.

“A stone?” asked Harry. “It’s a stone?”

“ _Flamel’s_ stone, Harry, weren’t you listening?” hissed Hermione. “We’ve got to go back to the library, I know exactly what book we need.”

* * *

Harry’s scar hurt more often than not in the final days of the school year. Hermione suspected that it was a result of exam pressure or lack of sleep from spending most nights in the Common Room due to the hostility of Draco Malfoy. Harry knew that he could blame the headaches on neither of those reasons. He figured his head had not felt the same since that night in the forest and it seemed to explode at random times ever since.

“Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” whispered Hermione, when it really hurt him in their final Defence Against the Dark Arts lecture. Professor Quirrell stuttered on with his back turned to them, unaware of the talking students.

“I’m not ill,” said Harry, “It feels more like a warning, like danger’s coming.”

His theory was confirmed when he woke up suddenly from a doze a couple of hours after their final exam.

“I think he’s going to try to steal it tonight,” he told Hermione in hushed tones. “I had a dream about it.”

She frowned back at him. “Maybe you’re just thinking about it too much, Harry, and your subconscious is playing tricks on you.”

“No,” insisted Harry. “I know it’s going to be tonight, I can feel it.”

With a concerned look, she led him off to find Dumbledore. They stumbled into Professor McGonagall instead who informed them that the Headmaster had left urgently for the Ministry of Magic.

“Look,” said Harry, holding a hand on his scar. “It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

He barely heard Hermione’s gasp beside him over the loud one that escaped the teacher.

“How do you know -?” she spluttered.

“Professor, I know that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone tonight. We’ve got to let Professor Dumbledore know.”

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

“Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow,” she said finally. “I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.”

There was no more room for argument. The older woman shooed them outside, insisting that they enjoy the sunshine.

“What do we do now?” asked Hermione, looking at him nervously.

“It’s going to happen tonight, it’s too much of a coincidence that the Headmaster is gone,” said Harry. “There’ll be no one else to protect it. We can’t let Voldemort have that stone, Hermione, it’ll bring him back to life.”

“What do we do then?”

Harry smiled. “We steal it first.”

* * *

He stood waiting for Hermione in the agreed-upon location: outside the Charms classroom. He whipped his invisibility cloak off his head when he saw her coming, bickering with Ron Weasley.

“What is _he_ doing here?” asked Harry, glaring at the redhead.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Ron, jumping. “Where’d you come out of?”

Harry ignored him, looking at Hermione.

“He followed me out of the Common Room and said he’d tell Professor McGonagall if I didn’t bring him with me,” she said hurriedly.

“I did,” confirmed Ron, sounding proud of himself. “She didn’t have the nerve to take me out after she did Neville in, either.”

“ _What_?”

Hermione looked embarrassed. “He tried to stop me from leaving so I stopped him first.”

“It was kinda scary,” said Ron.

“Maybe _you_ should have been the one in Slytherin,” said Harry. “Did you tell Weasley what we’re doing?”

“No,” replied Hermione, “I thought you should be the one to tell him.”

* * *

As Harry blinked awake, the smiling face of Headmaster Dumbledore swam into view above him.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him blankly. Then he remembered. “Sir! The Stone! He’s got the Stone, we have to be quick-”

Dumbledore reassured Harry quickly, pointing out that he was safe in the hospital wing and that he had been asleep for hours. Harry glanced around the room, noticing that it was only him and the Headmaster. There was a sickening amount of treats piled high on the table beside the bed in which he was lying.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” said Dumbledore, beaming. “What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so naturally, the whole school knows. You have been asleep for three days now – Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round.”

“She’s alright? Hermione, I mean,” asked Harry. “And Weasley too?”

“Both of your classmates are quite unharmed, and Mr Longbottom too,” said Dumbledore. “Lady luck was on your side in that regard. I feared when I entered the final chamber that I was too late for you all.”

Harry stared at him, uncomfortable flashbacks of Voldemort filling his mind. “Why couldn’t he touch me? Quirrell or Voldemort or whatever he was. When he tried to touch me, he burned up. I think I was as surprised as he was.”

The Headmaster gazed thoughtfully at Harry. “Some spells when they are cast leave scars, like the one that marks your forehead. Others leave no visible sign but seem to exist in our very skin, intertwined with our magic so deeply that we cannot be separated from them. You have two such spells that protect you. The first came when your mother died to save you, the second when another witch swore to protect and keep you as her own. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, Harry, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mothers’ love for you leaves an invisible but dangerous boundary against those who intend to hurt you. Quirrell, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony for someone so bad to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Harry looked down at his hands, completely healed of any cuts or bruises they had borne. He couldn’t feel any of the special power in his skin that the teacher spoke of, but had seen proof of it on Quirrell’s face. He knew that it must be true because he was still alive but he reasoned that he would have to ask Helena about it when he saw her next.

“Oh, God,” said Harry, suddenly feeling very ill. “Did anyone tell my parents what happened?”

* * *

“The next time, Mr Potter, you feel the need to chase a dark wizard on behalf of the staff of this school, you come and tell me about it first.”

“But sir, we tried to tell Professor McGonagall-”

“Professor McGonagall is not your head of house, unless I am mistaken and you were sorted into Gryffindor on your first night here.”

“No, sir.”

“It would do you well to remember that you were chosen to be a Slytherin for a reason, and that the courageous stupidity demonstrated by Gryffindors is not becoming of those of our house. Next time a lion tries to do something reckless, you leave them to do it, _not_ lead them down the path yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Where _have_ you been?” asked Draco, running over to him as he approached the entrance to the dungeons. “You’ve been gone for days!”

Harry gave him a questioning look. “What, did you miss me?”

Draco gaped back at him. “Of course I didn’t, don’t be ridiculous. I was simply wondering if you’d jumped off the face of Astronomy Tower and been carted away to St Mungo’s,” said the boy. He raised an eye brow at Harry. “ _Were_ you in St Mungo’s?”

Harry scowled. “Not that it’s any of your business, but _no_ , I wasn’t.” He pushed past the Slytherin, giving the password to their portrait. It swung open and Harry entered the common room with Draco on his tail.

“I thought they had expelled you, but our house points didn’t dip low enough for that,” he continued, following Harry up the stairs to their dorm. “Of course that would have been my dream, but you couldn’t give me that, could you Potter?”

Harry sighed, ignoring the other student until he got to his bed. He pulled back the duvet and pillows, looking for any evidence that the bed had been tampered with. Unable to find anything, he frowned and looked at Draco.

“Did you finally stop messing with my bed?”

Draco scowled. “There didn’t seem to be much point after you didn’t come back for two nights in a row, and Theodore was complaining about the smell. I’ll fix it right now for you though if you just stand back-”

Harry shoved him lightly away before he had the chance to pull out his wand. “No, no it’s fine, I’ve learned my lesson about crossing you, Malfoy,” he said, with a roll of his eyes. “I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again without any fish guts, or whatever it is you keep putting in it.”

“It was actually kelpie poo,” said Draco.

Harry stared at him in horror, raising his wand. The boy turned and ran before Harry could utter a single word.

* * *

They stood together on the platform away from the groups of rowdy students, who eagerly chatted and messed around as they waited. Hermione had picked their position with careful thought and when the train arrived, they found themselves standing directly in front of a carriage door with no other competition. Harry heaved his trunk and Hedwig’s cage on first, slotting them into a compartment before hopping off the train again. He reached for his friend’s luggage but she stopped him, using her wand to levitate it onboard instead. He groaned as she giggled at his stupidity.

“It’s like you’ve learned nothing at all,” said Hermione, following her trunk onto the train. He hurried after her, pulling the door of their carriage shut. After sticking a tongue out at her, he retrieved his own wand from his robes.

“ _Colloportus,”_ murmured Harry, pointing his wand at the carriage door. It clicked locked.

“What?” he asked, on seeing her sceptical look. “I don’t like the idea of any nasty Gryffindors barging in here.”

“Or Slytherins,” she pointed out with narrowed eyes. He settled on the seat across from her, looking out the window beside him. A few students were left on the platform, pushing and shoving to encourage their classmates to get onto the train faster.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“You live in London, don’t you?” asked Harry, fidgeting with the hem of his robes.

“Yes, well, in Hampstead, really. It’s not classically London, it’s a little further out,” replied Hermione.

“How far is Hampstead from Kensington?”

“I’m not sure, I’d have to look at it on a map but I wouldn’t think they’re too far apart. Everything in London is pretty accessible. Why are you asking?”

“I was wondering if maybe we could meet up sometime over the summer,” said Harry. “If you wanted to, I’d like to.”

She smiled brilliantly back at him. “Yeah, yeah of course,” she said. “I didn’t really think you’d want to know me until we came back here in September.”

“Well, I’m not stupid. There’s a lot of homework to be done, what if I get stuck? I need to have someone I can ask for help.”

Hermione laughed and swatted at his head. He dodged her hand, sliding further down in his seat.

“Would your parents not help you with the coursework?” asked Hermione, settling back in her seat. He shook his head.

“No,” he answered. “My dad can’t do any magic, and Helena, my mum, I don’t think she does the same kind of magic they’ve been teaching us at Hogwarts. She doesn’t have a wand and I’ve never heard her say a spell, but I know she can do it because there’s always a little bit of magic around home.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up with excitement. “It’s extremely rare for witches or wizards to do wandless magic, Harry. Most people can only do really small spells wandlessly, like a _lumos_.”

He shrugged back at her. “I’ve never really thought about it. Whatever she does do, it’s just always seemed very normal at home, because she’s been doing it for as long as I can remember. So yeah, I don’t think she’ll be very good at helping me with my homework. I’ll definitely need you to help me out.”

The children smiled at each other across the table. “I’m sure we can work something out,” said Hermione. “Have you got a telephone?”

She spotted her parents first after they hauled their luggage off the train in King’s Cross station. He watched as they hugged her and turned polite smiles on him, smiling more warmly when she introduced him as her friend. Harry waved goodbye to her family, dragging his luggage across the platform until he reached the couple waiting for him. 

“Harry Potter,” said his dad, one eyebrow raised, “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me this far, I hope you decide to come back! It's been a funny old week and who would have thought finishing off some old HP fanfic would keep me entertained on my days off in the middle of a global pandemic. Do your country a favour and stay home, eat some chocolate and read some more fanfic!!


	4. Serpentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the great snakes of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. My apologies, I cannot believe it's about 6 months since I updated. 2020 is wrecking me. I hope you are all well. Happy quarantining! 
> 
> Long and rambling, I hope you enjoy. As usual, several moments are lifted from text, this time "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets". I own nothing. Some things are glossed over majorly in this, e.g. Dobby. Sorry if I dropped your favourite parts, but this was already horribly long at almost 10,000 words. I am determined to not rewrite the entire book.

Arthur leaned against the wall, waving as the car approached. It had barely stopped before one of the back windows slid down, a head sticking out through it.

“Dad?” called Harry with a huge grin on his face. “Hey!”

Arthur smiled back, waiting politely as he watched the adults climb out of the front seats. He pushed open the garden gate, moving to stand in front of it.

“Nice to see you again, Mr Fay,” said the woman warmly, opening Harry’s door as she spoke.

The boy bounded out of the car, vibrating with energy as he landed at Arthur’s side. Harry scowled when his hair was ruffled, jumping away again to retrieve his bags.

“Thanks for bringing him back, Mrs Granger,” said Arthur. “I hope he didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“Not a bit,” answered Mr Granger, moving to stand next to his wife. “We couldn’t fault him on his behaviour at all.”

“Always a relief to hear,” joked Arthur. He watched as a girl finally appeared from the car, her summer dress floating on the wind. “Hello, Hermione.”

Her face reddened. “Hi,” she said, poking Harry when he whispered something to her. “Thank you for agreeing to let me stay over, Mr Fay.”

“Well I just couldn’t listen to this brat saying he was missing his friend all summer, now could I?” asked Arthur, laughing at the complaints Harry made. “Would you all like to come in for some tea?”

The older couple made their excuses politely, kissing and hugging their daughter as they said their goodbyes. Arthur shook Mr Granger’s hand and kissed Mrs Granger’s, ignoring his son as he gagged behind him. He stood with the two children on the footpath in front of the garden, bags gathered at their feet, waving as the pair drove off. Arthur picked up Hermione’s bags after the car had disappeared, indicating for Harry to gather his own.

“Where’s Helena?” asked the boy, leading the way up the garden path towards the house. Hermione followed eagerly, pausing to look at some of the plants that dotted the trail.

“Gallivanting somewhere,” replied Arthur. “Last I heard, she was in Venezuela but she may have moved on.”

“You don’t know where your wife is?” questioned Hermione, sounding surprised rather than cheeky.

“Helena kind of does her own thing,” explained Harry. “She can just disappear for weeks at a time on some random journey. She always brings me back something cool though.”

* * *

“Hermione?” asked Harry later that night, his words spoken into the darkness.

“What?” came the sleepy reply.

“That thing that happened in your house…with Dobby. I don’t think we should tell my parents after all.”

“Why not?” whispered Hermione, sounding more awake now.

“I don’t know if they’ll let me go back to school if they think it’s dangerous. Same as your parents.”

He waited patiently for her to speak, staring up at the ceiling of his room that was covered with glow-in-the-dark constellations.

“Ok,” she said finally, so quietly he struggled to hear her. “But I still think we should tell an adult.”

“We can tell someone when we get to school.”

He stretched his arm towards her in the darkness. Either hearing or sensing his movement, she threw hers out too, shaking his hand in silent oath in the space between their beds.

* * *

Harry woke four days after arriving home from the Granger’s to the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen. He sat up in his bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and checking to see Hermione was still fast asleep. He stumbled out of his bed, tripping over the hems of his pyjamas as he left his bedroom. He was still poking at his eyes as he entered the kitchen, dropping his hands suddenly at the sight of the woman in front of him.

“Helena,” said Harry happily, holding out his arms. She turned to the sound of his voice, hopping off the island stool and coming towards him. She went straight for the space between his underarms, lifting him up like a small child against her chest for a proper hug. He groaned mildly in protest, but let his head rest on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her coat. It smelled of coffee and spices and just a little magic, sending endorphins to his brain.

Behind them, he heard Arthur laughing. Harry glanced up at his dad, noticing with delight the pancakes lining the pans beside him.

“I guess we know who the favourite is,” said Arthur dryly, waving an egg slice at the pair of them still wrapped up together.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” stated Harry, something he had heard Helena tell him before. Both adults chuckled.

“Where have you been?” he asked, directing his words at Helena as Arthur continued to cook in the background.

“Nowhere in particular,” she replied.

“You never tell me about your adventures,” complained Harry.

She let him slide gently to the floor, tugging on one of his ears as his feet hit the ground. “Your friend is coming.”

Hermione entered the room thirty seconds or so later. “I thought I could hear voices,” she said, looking nervously between them.

“Sorry if we woke you up, but breakfast is nearly ready anyway,” said Arthur, placing a huge stack of pancakes on the island. “Hermione, this is Helena who we told you about.”

“Hi,” murmured the young witch, a little shyly. “Thank you for having me in your house.”

She smirked. “If you really want to thank me, you can help with setting the table for breakfast. Then you two can tell me what you’ve been getting up to, and we can discuss our trip to the most horrendous place on earth.”

Hermione followed her over to the cutlery cabinet, taking the forks and knives she dished out and walking them over to the main table. “The most horrendous place on earth?” she repeated in confusion.

“She means Diagon Alley,” grinned Harry, setting glasses at each place in his own contribution to the table. “She hates it.”

“Really?” asked Hermione. “Last year I thought it was absolutely magical. In the muggle sense of the word I guess, though it is also very _magical_.”

“Too many wizards and witches in the one space,” muttered Helena.

“Heavens forbid,” said Arthur with a huge smile on his face.

She pointed a fork at him. “Watch it, or I’ll leave you to take them instead.”

He held his hands up innocently. “Hey, I’ve been doing all of the parenting recently. I’ve taken them plenty of places.”

“Yesterday, he took us to the _Imperial War Museum_ ,” said Hermione, her eyes glowing.

“Well of course he did.”

* * *

In spite of her threats, it was Helena and not Arthur who stood in the garden with them on a drizzly morning two days later. The children vibrated with excitement at the thoughts of their day out. She glanced between them with an exasperated expression.

“It goes without saying that I expect you to be on your best behaviour while we are out.”

Harry looked offended while Hermione rushed to offer her assurances.

“I mean it, Harry. If you find any trouble, you tell me straight away and we come home immediately.”

The boy nodded solemnly, glancing at Hermione as his mind turned briefly to the thoughts of an elf in her bedroom several weeks ago, crying about danger. Neither child said anything.

Helena held her hands out to them. Harry took hold of the one closest to him immediately, while Hermione stared in confusion.

“We are apparating,” said Helena.

“I’ve never done that before.”

Helena vanished the vomit from the ground of Diagon Alley. “Sorry,” said Hermione weakly, still looking queasy.

“No matter,” she answered easily. “Come along then, ducklings.”

They hit the first few shops together, purchasing a new set of robes for Hermione who had stretched too much to wear hers from last year. Both females hauled him bodily away from the Quidditch store, Helena reminding him that he had a perfectly functional broomstick at home. They stopped briefly for an ice-cream, Harry having pointed out that it was something of a tradition for them while shopping for school supplies. As they licked at their cones, he asked boldly if they could go and explore Flourish and Botts themselves for a while for both school supplies and personal reading. It took far less convincing than he thought it would.

Helena stared him dead in the eyes for ten seconds before letting them go. Both children swore to call for her if help was needed, although Hermione was a little confused as to what use calling her name would do.

The pair of friends separated by accident on entering the shop, driven apart by the people lingering in every space. Harry pushed past witches and wizards, looking in vain to see the shelves full of curse books he wanted. People ignorantly blocked the way, not seeming to notice his short stature as he forced his way past. As he dodged through shoppers, he noticed a blond man standing in front of a poster of himself. 'GILDEROY LOCKHART, FOR ONE DAY ONLY', it read, the letters flashing to gain passing people's attention.

“It can’t be Harry Potter?”

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly.

“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together you and I are worth the front page.”

When he finally let go of Harry’s hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to slink back over to Hermione, but Lockhart threw an arm over his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge-” The crowd applauded again. “He had no idea,” continued Lockhart, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

The crowd cheered and clapped as Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Lockhart. He stumbled on his feet as he heard the camera clicking again, blushing at the thoughts of a photograph of him falling gracing the cover of _The Daily Prophet._ A hand caught him by the shoulders suddenly, steadying him on his feet. He felt the tower of books levitate out of his arms, watching as they hovered in the air in front of him. The horde gathered in the bookshop fell silent as if bewitched; eyes following the books as they flew slowly back towards Lockhart. He had no choice but to catch the first one as it pressed itself into his arms. The other books followed, one by one, landing heavily on the pile he held with a thud. The wizard stood in barely restrained temper, opening his mouth as if to argue. He did not get the opportunity.

“Many thanks, Professor, you are most gracious,” said Helena, suddenly standing beside Harry with her hand still on his shoulders. “But Harry has no need for your books. He will not be reading them.”

A whisper ran through the crowd. Harry glanced around at the horrified faces of the witches and wizards present before looking back at Lockhart. The man’s cheeks were coloured red and his fists were clenched by his sides.

“Well, he will have to read them,” answered the man loftily. “They are on the syllabus for my class this year. He will not pass the subject without them.”

Harry gulped nervously at the prospect, leaning a little into Helena.

“I’m sure you possess all of the skills necessary to teach the children in your classes without the books,” said Helena, sounding amused. “I can’t imagine you would have survived any of your adventures without them after all.”

Lockhart scowled, his face twisting nastily in the expression. He opened his mouth again to speak but he had lost Helena’s attention. She turned this time to address the photographer, reaching forward and touching the flash on his camera. The wizard jumped in shock as smoke began to billow out of the back compartment. Around them, the crowd squirmed in discomfort.

“My film!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You’ve destroyed it!”

“It is against Wizarding law to take photographs of a minor without their guardian’s consent,” pointed out Helena calmly. “Perhaps it would do you good to remember that in future.”

She turned away from both men then, ignoring their complaints as they attempted to engage her in conversation again. The crowd began to mill around, creating some distance between them and easing Harry’s nerves. Helena twisted him gently around to face her.

“You’re not too traumatised by that, are you? Arthur will kill me if you are.”

Harry shook his head. “It was a bit weird, but it’s fine. I still find it odd when people recognise me like that.”

“He recognised you as a good way to sell a few more books, and to get himself on the newspaper,” replied Helena. “If his work was in any way decent, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such cheap tricks.”

“I thought you were going to love him too. All the other women here seem to, even _Hermione._ ”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s a little too blond for my tastes, I prefer my men dark. Where _is_ Hermione?”

Harry frowned at her. “But dad is blond?” said Harry, at the exact moment his friend reappeared, arms full of books and cheeks dusted pink.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m here!” said Hermione, reshuffling the pile of texts in her arms. “I was just getting them signed by Professor Lockhart. Helena, I can’t believe you gave back the books! They’re half of our school list!”

Helena sighed but reached for the books in her arms anyway, pushing on them lightly. They disappeared instantly, allowing Hermione to shake out her arms as if she had pains from the weight of the volumes.

“I have no doubt, Hermione, that it will waste your time to read a single word of what that man has written.”

“But reading is never wasted time! Even if the material wasn’t of good standard, there’s always something to be learned.”

Harry was in the process of rolling his eyes when another voice chimed in.

“You always have an answer for everything, don’t you Granger?”

Harry spun around immediately, fighting the urge to groan as he caught sight of Draco Malfoy. The boy stood nearby, arms folded and chin raised snootily at them.

“Well, you are brave attacking your peer when there are adults present,” said Helena, addressing their classmate. “I’m guessing from Harry’s lengthy description you would be Mr Malfoy.”

Draco’s face went bright red, making Harry snort while Hermione smothered a giggle. The boy stammered in response to the witch, saved from answering when two identical heads appeared on the edge of their little circle.

“Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy, who will win this scrap?” said one of the teenagers, cocking his head.

“My money’s on Potter, he’s got good winning history,” said the other excitedly.

“I didn’t think you had any money,” said Draco rudely. The brothers exchanged a look before one slid a wand out of his jacket pocket and held it in the air.

“Fred, put that away!” came another voice, as a man struggled over to join them, a young girl following close behind him. He landed a heavy hand on each twin’s shoulders, a normally jolly face appearing exasperated. “What’s going on here then?”

“Malfoy is just begging to learn a lesson,” muttered Fred, staring menacingly at the younger wizard. Draco looked more comfortable in the presence of another adult, obviously confident that the boys would not touch him.

“I think it’s too crowded in here, the hot air is getting to everyone,” said the man. Harry realised on looking at his bright red hair that he must be the Weasley’s father. “Let’s go outside.”

Mr Weasley had not managed to manoeuvre his sons away before a third adult joined the accidental gathering.

“Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley.”

Mr Weasley visibly bristled on seeing the new wizard, who matched his own posture by putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Harry looked at the man from top to bottom, noting his long pale hair, sharp chin and the expensive cut of his robes. He had heard stories from Draco in their dormitory about his father, but yet the man was even more stern-looking than Harry had expected.

“Lucius,” said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

“And I believe you have me at a loss,” said Lucius Malfoy, bowing his head respectfully at Helena. She smiled but did not offer her hand as she usually did on greeting new people.

“Helena Fay,” she told him, holding his eye gaze. She did not give any further information, forcing Mr Malfoy’s attention back towards his first target.

“Busy time at the Ministry I hear,” he said, eyes skirting over the twins, their father and sister rapidly. “All those raids…I hope they’re paying you overtime.”

He reached into the Weasley girl’s cauldron and extracted a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_.

“Obviously not,” said Mr Malfoy. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Harry’s stomach flopped over as Mr Weasley flushed. He noticed Fred and George whisper ferociously between themselves, but neither teen dared to speak up.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” answered Mr Weasley.

“Clearly,” agreed Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes landing on Hermione, who was chewing on a fingernail apprehensively. “The company you always find yourself in, Weasley, and I thought you could sink no lower-”

Mr Malfoy leapt backwards in anticipation as Mr Weasley moved to jump on him, but there was no need. Helena stopped the red haired wizard with a hand on his chest, turning herself into his line of sight to block out the image of the gloating Malfoys.

“Your claims of poor company are most entertaining, Mr Malfoy,” said Helena. “I did not think you would wish to draw attention to people’s choices in acquaintances and allies. I may be wrong, but I had thought it had gone out of fashion to brand yourself for eternity with the mark of your friends.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed dangerously, forgetting their previous target and focusing solely on Helena. Harry glanced between the adults, clueless to the meaning of Helena’s words, but recognising them as the insult they were.

“You are bold indeed to make such statements,” said Mr Malfoy, no louder than a whisper. “After all, _Fay_ is not a name I am familiar with in contemporary magical society.”

“Of course,” replied Helena, “as my husband is non-magical and we live almost exclusively in the Muggle world. I hope that wouldn’t be an issue for you.”

She stared at him as if in challenge and nobody dared to speak back. Eventually Mr Malfoy broke the spell, thrusting the old Transfiguration book he had taken at the Weasley girl. His eyes glittered with malice.

“Here, girl – take your book – if it’s the best your father can give you.” He did not address them again before beckoning to Draco and sweeping out of the shop with his son in tow.

“Bloody bastards, those Malfoys,” said George Weasley, speaking to break the silence amongst those that remained.

“George!” scolded Mr Weasley, running a stressed hand through his hair. “I am sorry for all of that,” he said, directing his words at Helena, Harry and Hermione. “I must admit he manages to bring out the worst in me.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult,” replied Harry.

“He’s not a very pleasant person,” added Hermione.

“No,” agreed Mr Weasley, smiling at the children. “It was a pleasure to meet you all, although it could’ve been under better circumstances. You’re in Ron’s year, I understand. I heard all about your adventures a couple of months ago.”

“None of which they will be repeating,” said Helena dryly, fixing the pair with a stern look.

“Of course not,” exclaimed Harry, with a big grin.

“You’ll have to excuse us, Mr Weasley,” said Helena politely, nodding her head at the father and each of his children in turn. “I did not expect us to spend so much time in here today so we must continue with the rest of our shopping.”

Harry and Hermione awkwardly said goodbye to their peers with brief nods and waves, letting themselves be ushered out of the store without complaint. They walked together in silence, Helena leading them back towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.

“But we haven’t visited the apothecary yet, and Harry was supposed to get treats for Hedwig!” pointed out Hermione, when Helena stopped in front of the apparition point.

“I’ve had enough of this place and its occupants today,” said the older witch, holding out both hands. “You two could find trouble in a paper bag if I left you in it. I’ll come back myself for whatever you’re missing. We’ll consult the lists when we get home.”

Hermione appeared ready to argue, but her retort fell away when Harry elbowed her in the side. He took one of Helena’s hands and laced his fingers tightly in hers, sending his friend a meaningful look. With a sigh, Hermione grabbed the free hand tightly. Seconds later, she stood on the doorstep in Kensington gasping for air while Harry looked on comfortably.

“The sensation will go away, the more you do it,” Helena said, ignoring her to push on the doorbell.

“I don’t think I ever want to do it again,” moaned Hermione, clutching at her stomach. She allowed herself to be dragged into the house, trudging through to the kitchen and flopping at the table dramatically. Arthur glanced between her, Harry’s pleased smile and Helena’s frustrated expression with a bewildered smile of his own.

“Shopping was fun, then?” he asked, placing a mug in front of each child. Harry poked at his friend, nodding at the hot chocolate in front of her.

“Next year, you’re taking them,” answered Helena, leaving the room as Harry began to babble excitedly at his father.

* * *

Arthur watched as Harry glided through the barrier wall without issue, glancing back to watch Hermione follow him through. Arthur and Helena made up the rear, one of her hands holding his. Pushing his trolley forward, Harry aimed for a good spot near the train and waited there for them to catch up. Hedwig hooted contentedly from her perch at the front.

“Another year begins,” said Arthur, sounding almost sad as he looked between Hermione and Harry. “I might not recognise either of you by the time you come home at Christmas. You are growing up too fast.”

Harry rolled his eyes, sharing a look with his friend. “You get more embarrassing every year.”

They exchanged hugs, the couple embracing both children equally.

“We expect full updates this year,” said Arthur. “No waiting until the end of the year to fill us in on your adventures.”

“ _And_ we are always willing to answer your _hypothetical_ questions,” added Helena.

“I’ll keep sending them on then,” said Harry with a grin.

Both children waved excitedly from the train, the adults standing watching as the magical vehicle disappeared into the distance. They turned to leave but did not get far before someone caught their attention.

“Madame Fay,” came the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy, accompanied by a mocking head bow. “What a pleasure it is to see you again so soon.”

Arthur bristled, sensing the danger that seemed to radiate off the well-dressed man. Helena felt loose and relaxed beside him, only smiling pleasantly at the man.

“Mr Malfoy,” she returned, also bowing her head. “And, if I am not mistaken, Mrs Malfoy. Your resemblance to your son is uncanny.”

“You are kind,” replied the woman, though to Arthur it sounded as if she didn’t really think so.

“Might I introduce my husband, Arthur? Darling, these are the parents of one of Harry’s classmates.”

Arthur held out his hand towards Lucius, holding it confidently in the air. The man’s eyes drifted down towards it and back to his face, and neither Malfoy took it. Eventually Arthur pulled his hand back, wrapping it around his wife’s waist instead. He kept his face dismissive, although he felt a familiar urge to run a sword through the other man, even though he no longer kept one on his person.

“I keep forgetting that my muggleness is contagious,” said Arthur without humour. “May the gods’ forbid you ever catch my mundanity.”

Lucius’ eyes flitted briefly over him before resting back on Helena. He aimed his words directly at her. “I’m sure it will be a challenging year for your kind. If you need anything, please feel free to reach out to an esteemed family such as ourselves for aid.”

Helena did not answer, and did not say a further word as the couple excused themselves, disapparating a few yards away from them.

“What was that about?” asked Arthur, looking at the train tracks. The platform was mostly empty now, parents and siblings having cleared out rapidly on the exit of the train. He kept his arm wrapped around her for comfort, feeling reassured at the warmth of her body at his side.

“I don’t know exactly, but it was a pretty poor threat,” she answered. She caught his face in her hand and turned his face to look at her. He stared into her eyes, blue on this occasion, and wrapped his free arm around her too so now he enveloped her. To any onlookers, he knew they would look like a classic couple, hugging each other romantically, when in reality their bond was something even deeper.

“If he thinks I’m going to be intimidated by a wand in a snake cane, he’s got another thing coming. I haven’t been afraid of anyone with a cane since the sixth century.”

She laughed, brushing her lips lightly to his. His grip on her waist tightened as he felt the familiar rush of movement through space.

* * *

“Did you see Ron Weasley’s wand?” asked Theodore Nott, fiddling with a pair of earmuffs.

Harry shook his head, placing a pair over his own ears. Theo mimed breaking his wand with his hands, making Harry gasp in shock.

“How did that happen?” he asked as the other boy slid on the ear protectors. He got only a shrug in response.

Harry stared in horror as Professor Sprout buried the squealing mandrake in soil, feeling a little ill. He looked around at his classmates, satisfied to note that Draco Malfoy looked ready to faint at the sight, and instantly felt better about himself. Draco caught him staring and held up a rude finger, but Harry smiled to himself anyway.

* * *

“ _Why_ do all of the DADA lessons have love hearts around them?”

Hermione snatched her timetable away from him, blushing furiously. “Stop snooping.”

Harry shook his head. “Helena would be so disappointed in you.”

He forgot to write about it in his letter that evening, focusing too intently on the capturing the exact disaster the class had been.

 _He was upset that none of us knew his favourite colour was lilac,_ he wrote, _and then left us to fight a pack of pixies. I dunno what the point of the lesson was, we didn’t learn any spells. I bashed a few of them over the head with his book about werewolves though._

* * *

“Harry,” said Hermione, settling down across the library table from him.

“What?” he snapped, not looking up from the essay he was writing for transfiguration.

“I’m sorry about the Quidditch team. Really, it’s completely unfair they allowed Malfoy’s father to buy his position like that.”

The quill spontaneously snapped in his hand. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied through gritted teeth. She got the message and didn’t push him any further, taking out her own homework.

He didn’t say anything when Professor Snape approached him on the way back to the Common Room either, hearing the words over and over in his mind as he lay in bed to go to sleep.

“There’ll be other opportunities to demonstrate your superior talent as a seeker, Potter.”

* * *

He was alone the first time he heard it, walking near curfew back to the dungeons alone having spent the evening with Hermione in an empty classroom.

_“Come…come to me…Let me rip you…let me tear you…let me kill you…”_

He stopped suddenly, glancing up and down the corridor for a sign of who had spoken. There was no one else except him, which wasn’t a shock. The voice rasped in a way that didn’t sound human.

Harry stood in the corridor as if frozen for a few seconds longer before the spell of surprise broke its hold on him. He fled in the direction of the common room, giving the password for entry while panting and slamming the portrait behind him. He stormed past the other students gathered and went straight for the dorm, diving onto his bed. He pulled one of the blankets over him, as if it would protect him from whoever it was he had heard. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm himself down.

 _I’m hearing voices,_ he wrote on a spare scrap of parchment ten minutes later. He pointed his wand at it and muttered _incendio_ , his thoughts focusing on the intended recipient. The reply landed on his bed seconds later.

_Tell us more._

* * *

Hermione had tried to rationalise his experience, listing dozens of potential reasons for the ‘voice’, from Hogwarts’ shoddy plumbing system to ghosts. Over the days that followed, he mostly ignored her rambling thought processes, focusing on his surroundings in case he heard the voice again. He did not for several days, starting to become more comfortable and convinced that theory number five was correct: that he had imagined it. He was walking the hallways with Hermione again on Halloween night, listening to her rant about her most recent run-in with Ron Weasley in the Gryffindor Tower when he almost walked into Draco Malfoy.

The boy was sitting on the floor with a book in his hands, reading intently. Harry stopped just before he tripped over him, groaning when the other wizard noticed him and instantly scowled.

“Watch we’re you’re going, Potter!”

Draco had long since stopped messing with his belongings, but Harry still did his best to avoid talking to his dorm-mate for fear that the other boy would begin torturing him again. He opened his mouth to complain, but Hermione spoke first.

“What are you doing, reading on the floor?” she asked curiously, cocking her head to get a look at the cover of the book. Draco’s scowl deepened and he hid the cover beneath his hands.

“None of your business,” he started. “Here I was, enjoying some peaceful time and you-”

Harry attention shifted off the Slytherin automatically when he heard it.

_“….rip…tear…kill”_

He felt faint on recognising the voice, clutching at the wall to catch himself. Hermione turned to him in surprise and even Draco stood suddenly.

“Harry, what’re you-?”

“It’s that voice again, just shut up a minute-”

_“…sooo hungry…for so long…”_

“What voice?” asked Draco, looking scared.

_“kill…time to kill…”_

“You can’t hear it?” asked Harry, looking at him. He shook his head seriously, and Harry turned to Hermione, who also denied it.

“It sounds like it’s moving,” he told them, walking in the direction he guessed it moved in.

_“…I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD…”_

“It’s going to kill someone,” gasped Harry suddenly, beginning to run. He didn’t turn around to look but he could hear the running footsteps of the pair following him. They ran up flights of stairs and down corridors, pausing on the second floor in another deserted corridor for breath.

“What the _bloody hell_ is wrong with you, Potter?” demanded Draco, panting for air just behind him.

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. “ _Look!”_

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE.

“What’s that thing on the wall?” asked Harry quietly, edging nearer. He almost slipped – there was a large puddle of water on the floor. He felt both of his classmates crowd closer to him, Hermione actually grasping his hand while Draco pressed against his side.

“That’s Mrs Norris,” he said. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help?” asked Harry awkwardly.

“This is exactly the kind place we don’t want to be caught in, Potter.”

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sounds of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Hermione and Draco stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward at the grisly sight.

Harry gulped on seeing Filch appear in the crowd. He gripped Hermione’s hand as the caretaker began to scream at them.

“Come with me, Argus,” said Dumbledore calmly, appearing on the scene followed by several teachers. Harry caught Professor Snape’s eyes and didn’t look away until Dumbledore caught his attention again. “You too, Mr Potter, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy.”

They were guided towards Lockhart’s office for convenience, the children shuffling closely together. Harry ignored most of the chatter of Lockhart, sitting on a seat Snape conjured with an absent flick of his wand. It was large enough for all three of them, and so Harry sat with both Draco and Hermione at his sides. He fidgeted nervously as he listened to Dumbledore report on Mrs Norris’ condition, and said nothing when Filch turned the blame on him. He’d been raised by a cop after all – he knew that anything he said might be used to incriminate him.

The teachers bickered in front of them for several minutes before eventually they were allowed to go free. They did not need to be told twice – all three children rose as one from their seat and left the room quickly. They walked in the opposite direction of the writing on the wall, none wanting to look upon the scene again.

“Why didn’t you tell them about the voice?” asked Draco quietly. They were walking in the direction of Gryffindor, Harry’s subconscious realising before his brain did that he shouldn’t let Hermione walk alone.

“Hearing voices isn’t a good sign is it? In the magical world, I mean? Because it’s not for muggles. Muggles that hear voices are crazy.”

“They might have admitted you to St Mungo’s,” agreed Draco seriously.

“You believe me, though?”

Hermione shuddered. “I didn’t want to at first, but it’s hard not to now.”

“What do you think it meant?” asked Harry as they walked. “ _The chamber has been opened_ …what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have no idea,” said Hermione. “It’s not very specific is it?”

“Well, most messages written in blood probably aren’t going to be _specific_ , are they?” retorted Draco. “One thing was clear though.”

“What’s that?” questioned Harry.

“ _Enemies of the heir_ … they have to be talking about a magical family.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , anyone who was raised as a pureblood knows what the greatest enemy of an ancient family is.”

“Which is?” asked Hermione shrilly. The children stopped in the corridor to stare at each other.

“Muggles and mudbloods,” said Draco.

* * *

He wrote on the top of his notebook in Transfiguration: _What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?_

He was almost finished Potions by the time the reply came.

_It’s a myth. Why?_

* * *

Hermione was the one to ask Professor Binns in their History of Magic class one afternoon, frustrated with the lack of reading material on the subject. Every student hung on the ghost-Professor’s words as he spoke for what Harry reckoned was the first time in living memory.

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and wizards and witches suffered much persecution.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. By then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle-parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.

“Reliable sources tell us this much,” said Professor Binns. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There was silence in the room. Harry glanced around at his classmates, noting that most looked a little ill. Professor Binn’s huffed in frustration at their rapt attention.

“The whole thing is nonsense, of course,” said the ghost. “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand was back in the air, asking for clarification.

“There is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns.

The classroom exploded into concerned comments and questions. The teacher struggled to regain order. Harry did not contribute, turning in horror to look at Draco where he sat a couple rows behind him. The boy caught his gaze and shrugged, mouthing ‘ _I told you so’._ Harry looked back at Hermione where she sat beside him, a nervous feeling gnawing at his chest.

* * *

The story carried throughout the school in minutes. Harry ran to the library, feeling relief when he saw Hermione in perfect health before him.

“Is it true?” he asked her, slightly out of breath.

She nodded. “Yes. He’s a first year in Gryffindor.” Her face paled. “And a Muggle-born. Petrified, just like Mrs Norris.”

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_I know we planned for me to come home for the Christmas holidays, but I was thinking of staying here with Hermione and some of the other kids. Do you mind? Most of the Slytherins are going home so I’ll have the dorm room to myself. I might just put my own Kelpie poo in Draco’s bed and have it waiting for him when he gets back._

_Do you know what a Parselmouth is? I found out a few days ago at the new duelling club that I’m one. I think it means that I can talk to snakes. I accidentally talked to one someone summoned and everyone was really surprised. Hermione says it’s a rare magical skill. I didn’t even know I was doing it until everyone acted really strange._

_I thought it would be cool to be able to talk to snakes, but most people here seem to be scared of it. Snakes aren’t very popular outside of Slytherin house apparently. It’s a bit odd, but people have suggested that because I can do it and with my house, I must be Slytherin’s heir. I haven’t thought much about my family before you and Helena, and I never thought of having grandparents and great grandparents or ancestors as Hermione told me. Do you think it’s possible I am really Slytherin’s heir just because I can speak to snakes? Do you know anything about the Potter family?_

_I’m sorry I’m not coming home for Christmas. I do want to see you and Helena and will miss you lots. I just think I should stay here for the holidays._

_Write you soon,_

_Harry_

Arthur finished reading the letter, placing it on the table between them. “Is it just me or does that scream ‘there’s something I’m not telling you and I’m in trouble’?”

Helena nodded. “Definitely more suspicious than any of the other letters he’s sent in the past.”

“Is he an heir of Slytherin? I assume you would’ve told me by now if he was.”

She shook her head. “No far from it. Harry’s family line can actually be traced back to Gryffindor. Many centuries ago, obviously.”

Arthur sighed. “Help me write a reply, will you?”

_Dear Harry,_

_We are a little sad that we won’t see you for Christmas, but we understand why you want to stay with your friends. We’ll just have to find some way to entertain ourselves without you – Lena is promising to wake me up at dawn in honour of your tradition._

_No, we didn’t know about your abilities as a Parselmouth. I’m sure it is difficult to have people think of you as strange, but really it is a gift. I wish I was able to talk to snakes myself – Lena says she does not. She has a little phobia of them. Regardless, it might be a very useful skill some day. I can’t see any downsides of this ability at all and think you should be proud of it._

_As for your family, we are reasonably sure that there is no genetic connection between you and Slytherin. The Wizarding world is quite small, and old families like the Potters typically guard their family line preciously and know exactly who marries whom, and who they are related to. If it is something you are interested in, we can look at drawing your family tree over the summer. It is likely that you are related to several of your classmates, but no – you could not be related to Slytherin, nor be his heir. Helena wants me to tell you that it’s very egotistical of you to assume you’re the heir of one of the most powerful wizards of all time. But I know you didn’t mean it like that._

_We will chat to you soon. Don’t forget about us – if there’s anything you need, we can help, you just need to tell us. _

_Love,_

_Dad ( + Helena)_

* * *

“I found something,” said Hermione, reaching into her book bag. She pulled out a small black notebook and handed it to him. Harry instantly flicked it open, his eyes watching the blank pages flit beneath his fingers. He went to the very first page, noting that _T.M. Riddle_ was written in smudged ink.

“What is it?”

“It looks like a diary that’s never been used,” she said. “The person who owned it must have been Muggleborn because a sticker on the back says it’s from Vauxhall Road in London.”

“Why is it wet?” asked Harry, rubbing his fingers off his cloak to dry them.

“It was in the Myrtle’s bathroom. Someone flooded it and she was having a bit of a strop.”

“Who’s Myrtle?”

“Oh, she’s a ghost that haunts the second floor toilets. She’s called Moaning Myrtle, because, well, all she does is moan. She said someone threw this at her.”

“Doesn’t look like much of anything,” said Harry.

“That’s what I thought,” said Hermione. “But it’s a bit strange for someone to throw an empty old diary at a ghost. I was thinking it might have special powers, but I’ve tried every revealing charm I can think of and nothing has happened.”

Harry convinced her to let him keep it, burying the book in his trunk in the dormitory for a few weeks until it finally occurred to him to attempt to write in it.

_My name is Harry Potter._

* * *

None of the other Slytherins were brave enough to approach him. He sat in a corner of the common room, close to the fire place, staring into the flames. There was nowhere else he could go with curfew in place, nowhere to hide from his housemates. He didn’t know where he would want to go anyway.

By midnight, he had been the only person left in the room. A shadow crossed over him and he looked up. Draco Malfoy stood over him, his hands awkwardly hovering in front of his body.

“What do you want?” asked Harry sharply.

“I wanted to tell you that I know it’s not true.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That you’re the heir of Slytherin. You’re bloody _Potter_ for Merlin’s sake. Nobody could be further from being the heir of Slytherin than you. I can’t understand why everyone thinks it.”

“Right,” said Harry expressionlessly.

“And, I know there’s no way you would do anything to hurt Granger, even if Lavender Brown swears that you two had a massive fight the other day.”

“Right.”

Draco hesitated, clearly having expected more of a response. “I am sorry, Potter. I hope, well, I hope she’s ok.”

Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Did you- did you just wish Hermione well? _Hermione?_ The mudblood?”

Draco winced a little. “I don’t like what’s happening here either. While I think the mudbloods have had it coming for some time now, I think this is ridiculous carry on for a school. I’ve already been on to my father about it. He assures me that the Ministry will be getting involved soon.”

“What if they make things worse?”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s the Ministry. Their job is to fix things like this, they’ll sort it out and we’ll be back to normal in time for the summer exams.”

Harry didn’t quite believe the words of the other boy, but he smiled weakly in response. Draco smiled back and a flicker of friendship sparked between them.

* * *

“I bloody HATE spiders,” shouted Draco, picking stray bits of web and leaves out of his hair.

Harry grinned at his upset. “At least it brings us to our next lead.”

“Which is?”

“That girl who died…Aragog said she was found in a bathroom. I think I know who she is.”

“Who she _is?_ ” asked Draco with concern. 

“I think she never left the bathroom.”

* * *

“We must be miles under the school,” said Harry, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.

“Under the lake, probably,” said Ronald Weasley, squinting around at the dark slimy walls.

Harry considered the group they made: Draco, who had swore to follow him down the hall to keep him out of trouble; Ronald, who they had met at the entrance searching for his sister; and Professor Lockhart, who was somehow Ronald’s prisoner. Ron had rushed to explain to them Lockart’s fraudulent past, however all three boys had agreed it was better to have an adult with them as they journeyed through the darkness.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

“Remember,” said Harry quietly as they walked cautiously forward, “any sign of movement, close your eyes right away.”

The last thing Harry expected was for Lockhart to go rogue, stealing Ron’s wand and causing an explosion within the caves. Harry rushed towards the rubble, trying in vain to make any kind of hole in it. He could hear the voices of the other behind the rocks, both Draco and Ron sounding unhurt.

“Good thing you never replaced your wand, Weasley,” he could hear Draco say. “His spell backfired – he’s lost it!”

“Are you ok?” shouted Harry. The boys confirmed with quick shouts back.

“Wait there,” said Harry. “I’m going to go on. If I’m not back in an hour…”

“If you’re not back in an hour,” continued Draco. “I’ll have no choice but to murder Weasley. He’ll annoy me to death by that point.”

Harry grinned. “See you in a bit,” he yelled back, and continued on his way.

It occurred to him as he entered the main chamber that perhaps he should’ve informed his parents about what he was doing. He realised that if he survived the Chamber of Secrets, they would probably not let him come back to Hogwarts for third year. He continued on anyway, knowing that he had come too far to turn back now.

* * *

They shared the story in the Headmaster’s office, standing in dusty and torn clothes, covered in bruises and dried blood but all safe considering what had happened. Mrs Weasley held both her children tightly, sobbing and questioning equally. Professor McGonagall was mostly silent in her listening, while Professor Dumbledore occasionally added to their tale with some information they did not know. Harry told most of the account while Ron and Ginny interrupted with bits of their own. Neither Lockhart nor Draco said much, the latter appearing uncomfortable standing amongst the adults.

A frighteningly loud knock came on the door to the office, the sound reverberating around the office and halting all conversation. Professor Dumbledore rose from his chair and waved a hand at the door, allowing it to swing open. Harry turned around and froze when he saw both Arthur and Helena standing in the doorway, faces grave. The smile on his face died and he gulped nervously.

“Mr and Mrs Fay,” said Dumbledore, his voice almost toneless. “My apologies, I did not believe you would arrive so promptly. Please, come in.”

Both moved into the room, Arthur’s eyes darting around visibly to look at each of the occupants. His eyes finally skimmed up and down Harry’s body, obviously looking for injury. Harry smiled weakly at him, trying to nonverbally show him that he was fine. Arthur grasped one of his shoulders tightly and spoke to address the room.

“We could have been here even more _promptly_ had you had the good will to write to us when Harry _entered_ the Chamber, and not on him _leaving_ it.”

The good natured atmosphere in the office fell away as he spoke, his voice hard and cold. Harry glanced at his father in surprise, as did almost everyone else in the room. Harry knew what they were thinking. He knew that when people met his parents, they always assumed Helena was the scary or mean one, because she was harsh in her words and quick to offense. His dad, on the other hand, always seemed pleasant and easygoing and could be affectionate and sappy.

Harry also knew that Arthur could terrify even the most hardened criminal as a police officer. It was rare to see him get so angry, but Harry had witnessed it twice before. He closed his eyes in the Headmaster’s office, knowing he was in trouble.

“Really,” continued Arthur, his voice filled with controlled rage, “the time to contact us would have been when the first student was petrified. As parents, I would assume we have the right to know when our child is placed in danger.”

“We had every precaution in-” began Professor McGonagall.

“Precautions that led to one child being taken into the Chamber, and three others follow her? Perhaps I should buy you a dictionary so you can look up the definition of _precaution_.”

Professor McGonagall spluttered indignantly and Draco caught Harry’s eye in alarmed awe.

“Now, excuse me, _sir-_ ” said Mrs Weasley, not moving from where she held both Ron and Ginny and continuing to sniffle.

“You do not wish to continue that sentence, Mrs Weasley, I assure you,” replied Arthur. Harry winced and turned to see Helena watching him. She winked at him and then caught Draco’s chin in her hand. Harry couldn’t hear what she said, but he saw the boy nod in response. “We clearly have different expectations of what qualifies as sufficient care and supervision for our child than you do.”

Mrs Weasley squawked, ready to roar at Arthur were it not for Professor Dumbledore holding a hand in her direction. “Please, Molly,” said the old wizard. “Mr Fay, I fear nothing we say here tonight will placate you.”

“You are correct,” agreed Arthur. “We will be taking Harry home tonight.”

“But there’s weeks left of the term!” cried Harry in surprise, shutting up instantly when the hand on his shoulder tightened painfully.

Dumbledore eyebrows rose. “If that is your wish we will not prevent you.”

“If someone would be so kind as to provide us with directions, we will also be taking Ms Granger with us from the Hospital Wing.”

“You cannot!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall. “As her Head of House, I cannot allow it.”

“Hermione’s parents have already granted us permission to act as her magical proxy. We will be taking her home to her parents.”

“But you are only a Muggle yourself, you cannot act as such,” said McGonagall.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and Helena stepped forward, smiling wide as if to bear all her teeth in a threatening manner.

“Perhaps you should stop talking, before you offend my husband further,” said Helena, her voice extremely pleasant in comparison to Arthur’s. “We will be leaving now. Mr Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you again.”

Harry watched as both adults stared each other down until eventually Professor Dumbledore spoke. “I will guide you to the Hospital Wing myself.”

Arthur physically pushed Harry out of the office, not releasing his hold on his shoulder as they walked.

“Are you afraid I’ll run off?” Harry whispered to him with a wince at the pain.

“I am not ready to talk to you,” replied Arthur. “If I do, I will say something I regret.”

* * *

It was the middle of the night. Hermione slept soundly in his room, while her parents were lying in a bedroom that hadn’t existed a few hours before. Harry found himself unable to sleep, the day’s events running through his head. His thoughts turned to Draco, covered in dust, Ginny’s lifeless body and Lockhart’s menacing face. Most of all he thought about his conversations with Voldemort, or Tom Riddle as he had been called.

“Will Dad be mad at me forever?” he asked, sensing the woman standing behind him. She moved to sit next to him on the couch, stealing his blanket and draping it across both of them.

“No,” said Helena. “Your dad is pathetic at holding a grudge at people he likes. He might not trust you until you’re about thirty, however.”

“I don’t mind that, once he doesn’t hate me.”

They sat in silence, the minutes ticking by on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was far past midnight and yet he still didn’t feel tired.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“When I was in the Chamber, I pulled a sword out of the Sorting Hat. It was Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”

He felt Helena stiffen beside him. “Did you?”

“Yeah but I didn’t realise that’s what it was at the time. I found out in Dumbledore’s office afterwards, and he told me that only a true Gryffindor can use the sword. Do you think the Hat made a mistake, when it put me in Slytherin?”

Helena seemed to think about the question for several moments. “No, I don’t. The Hat both sorted you into Slytherin _and_ gave you the sword. I think it’s more likely that Dumbledore is incorrect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sorting children into Houses by their attributes is a flawed system. You are always going to show traits of more than one House at different points in your lifetime. I think in a way Dumbledore is right and a _Gryffindor_ could use the sword. In that moment, you were a Gryffindor because you were demonstrating buckets of bravery, which was his most preferred characteristic in a student, so you were allowed to have it. I’m not sure the Founders ever intended the House concept to be used so divisively. You are more than just your House, Harry.”

He nodded, thinking about her words.

“Do you think Dad will let me go back to school in September?”


	5. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the psycho wizard killer at Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things begin to heat up a little... as usual, there are huge deletions of the original story from this (See: Buckbeak) purely because I do not have time or energy to rehash it all. Apologies if I've missed your favourite part!
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, I hope to get a chance to respond to each, but want you to know they make me so happy. I love to read theories about what will happen next, or suggestions for Helena's identity. I will not confirm or deny anything, but i will say that there may be little hints dropped already in the story, and more to come. I am terrible for thinking I am obvious with clues when I am actually quite cryptic, so send me a message or review with your theories to amuse me and prove I am not so cryptic at all!

A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He thought that he looked strangely familiar.

_BLACK STILL AT LARGE_

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today._

_“We are doing all we can to recapture Black,” said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.”_

_Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

_“Well, really, I had to, don’t you know” said an irritable Fudge. “Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or muggle. I have the Prime Minister’s assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black’s true identity to anyone. And let’s face it – who’d believe him if he did?”_

_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal weapon that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse._

Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of his sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.

“He murdered _thirteen people?_ ” said Harry, “with _one curse_?”

Helena glanced up at him, startled. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted the newspaper and waved it in her direction. She took it from him and skimmed through the words far quicker than he had.

“It wouldn’t take much,” she said thoughtfully. “An explosive spell in the wrong location could kill hundreds of people.”

“Do you think that’s what he did?”

She shrugged, handing him back the paper. “Maybe. There are curses that might injure or kill people in one go, but they usually require a huge amount of power and finesse in the casting. He doesn’t look like the type that would have the skill.”

Harry squinted at the picture of the man again, leaning over it until his nose nearly touched the image. “There’s something strange about him.”

“Not the fact that he’s a homicidal maniac?”

“No,” replied Harry, huffing with irritation at the photo. “I feel like I’ve seen him before but I don’t know where.”

“Maybe you read about him in a history book at school,” suggested Helena, continuing to read her book.

“I think I would remember the _psycho wizard killer_ ,” retorted Harry, rolling his eyes at her.

“Who’s a psycho killer?” asked Arthur, walking into the room at that point and poking him in the side. Harry squirmed and gestured to the newspaper.

“A prisoner has escaped wizard jail,” answered Harry. “Apparently the wizards told the Muggles, so hey! Maybe you’ll have to look for him too.”

“As if we don’t have too many of our own murderers to hunt,” muttered Arthur, moving to pick up the newspaper. He dropped it a few seconds later. “Sirius Black,” he said, staring at Helena. She seemed to sense his gaze on her, looking up to meet it. Harry glanced between the two of them in confusion.

“Is there something I’m supposed to know here?” questioned Helena, sounding bored.

“Yes,” sighed Arthur, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you pay attention to me at all?”

Harry grinned. “I mean, Dad, the answer to that is pretty obvious.” He caught Helena winking at him.

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. “I’m going to tell you something, not because I really want to, but because I think it’s your right to know.”

Harry stared back at his dad, a small confused smile on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“This man,” said Arthur, pointing absently at the photograph. “Sirius Black. He’s your Godfather.”

* * *

“I spent half of last year worried I was related to one dodgy wizard,” Harry told Hermione on the telephone later. “Now I find out I actually _am_ related to another one!”

The girl hummed down the phone. “He’s only your godfather though, that’s not really a proper relation, is it? I’ve only met mine once, he’s a friend of my dad’s that moved to Australia but he sends me presents every Christmas. Usually something really pink and glittery.”

Harry could imagine the shape her face was making with the disgust he heard in her voice and chuckled. “I know, at least he doesn’t have my DNA. But it does make me wonder what kind of people they were, my other parents, if they could be friends with someone who turned out to be a raving lunatic. Surely he was always a bit of a whacko.”

“Well they were murdered themselves,” pointed out Hermione matter-of-factly. “Maybe they didn’t have a very good radar for danger. I don’t know enough about them and what happened to tell you the truth, do you?”

Harry shook his head, forgetting that she couldn’t see. “Not more than you, I’d say. Dad told me a bit about what happened and how I got the scar before I started school, and I’ve heard a few more things there but I haven’t really wanted to know much more, yanno?”

She agreed that she did know. “I was wondering what it was going to be this year.”

“What what was going to be?” asked Harry.

“Every year we’ve gone to Hogwarts there’s been something. First year, the Philosopher’s stone, last year the Chamber of Secrets. This year has got to be Sirius Black. He’s the next thing that’s going to cause us trouble.”

A shiver passed over Harry’s spine. “Do you reckon?”

“Yes,” replied Hermione simply. “I hope Professor Dumbledore has increased the security measures around the school.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you attract trouble like a bad magnet, Harry,” said Hermione, not accusingly. “IF this Sirius Black man has escaped from prison, there’s a good chance he might want to come after you. At least in Hogwarts you’ll be safe with no one allowed in the castle walls.”

Harry’s thoughts turned to trolls, spiders and basilisks, to teachers who were possessed or frauds, to ghosts who had died as students in the school, and blood dripping from the walls. He hung up the phone a few minutes later, smiling weakly at his father when he asked if he was ok.

* * *

“You don’t have the go if you don’t want to,” said Helena, appearing behind him in the mirror as he combed through his hair. Harry hesitated, putting the brush down on the mantelpiece and watching her reflection.

“Of course I want to go back,” said Harry, not convincing either of them. He saw her fold her arms across her chest.

“You haven’t slept a full night since Arthur told you about Sirius Black,” returned Helena, her expression kind. “Are you upset that he is your godfather?”

Harry shook his head honestly. “That doesn’t really mean anything to me seeing as I’ve never met him.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just a little worried he’s going to come and murder me in my sleep,” he blurted out, the words colliding together.

Helena took hold of his shoulders and turned him until they faced each other. He had grown over the past months so his head met her chin level now. He avoided looking into her eyes. He glanced down at the jeans and cardigan she wore, up to her curly hair swept into a ponytail (light brown this year) and finally to her eyes as he knew she wouldn’t speak until she had his full attention.

“Sirius Black will not touch a hair on your head,” said Helena, her words toneless but carrying both promise and threat. “If he tries to touch you, he will die and it will not be a pleasant death for him.”

Harry shuddered, still feeling a little freaked out by the thoughts of the murderer but reassured of the truth of Helena’s words.

“What if he tries while I’m at Hogwarts?” questioned Harry, voicing his biggest gnawing concern.

Helena sighed. “As we have told you every year you’ve gone to school Harry, we are never too far away to help you, even if you conveniently forget it every time trouble strikes. All you must do is ask for help and we will come rushing to you.”

“Ok,” said Harry. “This time I really promise I will tell you _before_ the bad stuff happens.” She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “No, really I will. I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t want the wrath of Dad again.”

“Speaking of the wrath of Arthur,” began Helena, “He might lose his brains if he has to wait any longer for us in the car. Let’s go.”

Harry let her guide him out of the house by pushing him gently at the small of his back. He heard the front door shut with a click of the lock and hopped into the back of the car where his trunk lay half way between the backseat and the boot.

“What took you so long?” asked Arthur from the front, turning the key in ignition to start the engine.

“It was me, having a hair crisis,” said Helena dryly, sliding into the front passenger seat elegantly. Arthur rolled his eyes, pulling out of their driveway and beginning the journey. Harry stared out his window for most of it, ignoring the conversations of his parents as he turned over Helena’s promise in his mind. He believed that she would kill Sirius Black if she had the chance, and although it comforted him it also scared him. He did not want her to become a murderer herself on his account and then there was something in the back of his mind. He couldn’t say what it was except for the part of him that thought the man looked familiar. Something told him that it would be a shame to see Sirius Black dead, although he couldn’t understand why.

Harry didn’t speak as they parked the car, and avoided the concerned looks of his father as they pulled the luggage out of the back. He walked in almost silence, letting Arthur push the trolley as he had offered.

Arriving on the platform, he gave only a brief look for familiar faces, knowing that he would meet Hermione on the train as previously agreed. When his parents stopped walking just shy of a cabin door, Harry turned to face them.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” said Arthur, echoing Helena’s words from earlier. Harry flinched in surprise. Sometimes he forgot how alike they could be, despite their differing personalities.

Harry caught Helena’s eye and smiled. “I know that. But I do want to go.”

Arthur nodded solemnly back, reaching forward to hug the boy. Harry didn’t complain even though a part of him thought he should now at thirteen. “Well if you change your mind, I’ll always come and get you.”

“I know, Dad,” replied Harry, squeezing the man in their hug. He let Helena mess his hair before she kissed him on the cheek.

“And as agreed, weekly detailed letters or we come and collect you.”

Harry saluted playfully at his father before pulling out his wand and levitating his luggage onto the train. He pulled himself up the steps and turned once more to shout his goodbyes before disappearing into the train.

“And so it begins again,” murmured Arthur, waving even after the child disappeared.

“Indeed,” agreed Helena.

“Any ideas on where to begin?” he asked, looking curiously at his wife.

“A couple,” she answered.

* * *

Harry pushed through the train corridors, searching both for Hermione and an empty carriage in equal measure. Every carriage he passed was already occupied, some stuffed with friends already exchanging summer stories, others with one or two students, either waiting eagerly for their friends to arrive or anxiously hoping no one else would. He passed several older Slytherins and red-headed Weasleys in different places, happily ignoring them as they did him. He reached the end of the train, lamenting the fact that he would have to turn back and go to the top past where he got on when he finally spotted her.

Hermione sat in the final compartment in the seat closest to the door. He started smiling as he pushed open the door, freezing suddenly as he saw the carriage’s other occupant. It was a man, sitting fast asleep against the window. He did not appear to have moved with the opening of the door. The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

Hermione waved him into the compartment and Harry shoved his luggage into place before flopping down beside her.

“Who’s that?” he whispered, gesturing at the wizard.

“Professor R.J. Lupin apparently,” she whispered back. “It’s written there, on his suit case.”

Indeed it was, Harry observed. “He must be the new Defence teacher,” thought Harry aloud. Hermione nodded.

“Unless someone else has retired we don’t know about!”

Harry settled back in his seat, asking his friend about her summer even though he had seen her several times throughout it and had even more phone calls. She filled him in on her most recent holiday with her parents visiting a great aunt in Belfast which sounded boring to Harry. Eventually the conversation turned from pleasant things to the topic of Azkaban’s famed escapee. He told her of Helena’s promise and Hermione frowned.

“Your mum scares me a little,” she said, nose twitching.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, not offended but confused. Helena never scared him.

“Well she’s just a bit secretive, isn’t she? Anytime I meet her she strikes me as a powerful witch, yet you know next to nothing about her history, her family, where she learned magic. All we know about her is that she _didn’t_ go to Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned, thinking about it. “I’ve never thought to ask about it.”

“Well _I_ have, but I’m a bit too scared to. I feel like she or your dad would throw me out before I could ask the question.”

They both jumped suddenly when the compartment door slid open, eyes darting first to the still sleeping Professor and then to the doorway. Draco Malfoy stood there, rocking slightly as the train moved along the tracks. A trunk was floating behind him.

“Uh, hi,” said Harry owlishly, staring at the other boy. Draco blinked back.

“Hey,” he greeted back, glancing with panic between Harry and Hermione. He seemed to make a decision and stepped back to allow his luggage to float into the carriage, setting it on the rack and sitting opposite the other children. They stared at him. Harry hadn’t forgotten that Draco had been becoming something of a friend towards the end of last year, but that had been while Hermione had been petrified and the other boy did not mix with Muggleborns. He also hadn’t wrote a single letter to Harry all summer, so he had assumed that whatever brief friendship they had had was finished.

Silence fell heavily between the children and Harry became aware of the soft sounds of the teacher breathing in the corner. Draco turned his attention to him.

“Who’s that?” he asked, with a nod at the body.

Hermione filled him in, somewhat reluctantly. Draco eyed her almost shyly and nodded.

“How,” began Harry, realising something had to be done to fill the awkward atmosphere. “How was your summer?”

Draco shrugged, leaning back against his chair. “Same as ever I guess. I barely left the Manor at all. My mother wouldn’t even let me go shopping for school supplies with all of this Sirius Black business.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. “Us too!” he exclaimed. “ _And_ my parents refused to sign my permission slip for Hogsmeade.”

Draco looked horrified. “But every third year goes to Hogsmeade, they can’t do that!”

“They did,” Harry informed him sadly. “Though they said that it has nothing to do with Black and is because of what happened last year. They’ve essentially grounded me in Hogwarts and said they’ll _review the situation_ at Christmas.”

“Merlin,” swore Draco, staring at the boy in surprise. “Even mother hasn’t gone that extreme and she’s really panicked about the Black thing.”

“Why is she so worried?” asked Hermione curiously but politely. “I didn’t think she would care too much. Er, not to be rude. Just, you know, because of you being a pureblood and him being a fanatic.”

Draco shook his head but it was neither rude nor dismissive. “She’s worried because he’s my cousin. Well, her cousin actually. Mother was a Black before she married my father. She thinks he’s unpredictable and crazy after spending so many years locked up and that he might come after the family.”

Harry gaped at him. “He’s related to you too? He’s my godfather supposedly.”

Draco leaned forwards and the three children descended into excited conversation, exchanging the little they knew about the man and the crimes he had committed. They forgot their respective nerves of being around each other, united instead in gossip and mystery. The hours passed with ease as they talked, keeping their voices quiet for fear of waking the sleeping passenger.

It had gone completely black outside the window when the train began to slow down.

“We must be nearly there,” said Harry, thinking of his hungry stomach.

“We can’t be there yet,” replied Hermione, glancing at her watch.

“So why are we stopping?” asked Harry.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and the rain sounded louder than ever against the windows. Harry got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a sudden jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness. Harry winced when he felt hands grab onto his back suddenly, pulling him back into the compartment and yanking him down onto a seat. He realised up close in the darkness that it had been Draco to touch him, the boy’s body still neatly pressed against his.

“What’s going on?” whispered Harry, not directing his question at anyone. Neither of his classmates answered him.

The compartment door swung open suddenly and someone fell painfully over Harry’s legs. He felt Draco jump beside him at the entrance.

“Sorry! D’you know what’s going on? Ouch! Sorry-”

He recognised the bumbling voice, even without seeing the face.

“Hullo, Neville,” said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling the boy up by his cloak as Draco had done for him. Harry encouraged him to sit down beside Hermione, hearing Draco curse as Neville stumbled in the darkness. More students seemed to follow Neville into their compartment in confusion, and suddenly the air was full of confused whispers of Ron and Ginny Weasley.

“Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly. Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear his movements in the corner.

None of them spoke.

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face but his eyes looked alert and wary.

“Stay where you are,” he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it, and when he awoke later, Harry realised it was the last thing he could remember before the chilling screams of the woman.

* * *

“Are you awake?” asked Draco, long after the other boys in their dorm had fallen asleep.

Harry was, in fact, wide awake, despite feeling a heavy tiredness in his body. “Yes.”

“I can’t stop thinking about that Dementor,” confessed Draco, a shiver in his voice. “It made me feel so strange.”

Harry nodded, thinking about the letter he would have to write to his parents in the morning. As the Dementors were technically acting as guardians of Hogwarts, he wasn’t sure if this counted as ‘finding trouble’, but he lamented the fact that something bad had happened before he had even got off the bloody train. He knew, whether the desperate creatures were allowed to be on the train or not, that his parents would not be happy about what happened.

“Do you think they’ll work?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“That they’ll keep Sirius Black away from here or catch him?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Draco seriously. “They let him escape once already.”

* * *

Hermione slammed her bag down on their table in the library, causing Harry to jump in surprise. She looked suspiciously at Draco sitting next to him but said nothing, slipping into the seat opposite them.

“Who spit in your dinner?” muttered Draco, not brave enough to address her so smartly very loudly.

“Have you had your first Divination lesson yet?” demanded Hermione, yanking books out of her bag with force.

“Yeah, this morning,” confirmed Harry. “Apparently I have the, what did she call it again?” He directed the question at Draco.

“The _Grim_ ,” supplied the boy.

“Oh yeah, that was it. The ultimate omen of death, right in my teacup,” said Harry cheerily and unbothered.

Hermione stared at his calmness. “You’re not panicking about that?”

“No way. Having the omen of death was way better than what she told Draco.”

“Shut _up_.”

Harry grinned. “What did she say to you, ‘Mione?”

The girl huffed angrily. “That I have no aura and receptivity to the resonances of the future,” said Hermione, in what both boys were sure was a direct quote from the teacher. “What a load of rubbish that subject is anyway, a complete waste of our time!”

“It’s not all rubbish,” said Draco quietly. “There have been quite a few known seers and most magical families would say they’ve got one or two people who are a bit more touched.”

“Touched is one word for it,” said Hermione harshly. “Have either of you started Professor Snape’s essay?”

The boys shared a look. “We only got it today, how would we have started it already?”

“How long have you been sitting here wasting time?”

* * *

Severus Snape spotted the woman from across the pitch despite the hundreds of metres between them and the shadows of the stand that cloaked her. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the lawn, eyes drifting between the spot where she stood and the players in the air he was supposed to supervise. She did not seem to be aware of his presence as he came closer, her own eyes trained on the students in the air. He stopped a few feet away, reaching out with his mind for surface thoughts or fragments and hearing nothing. Snape looked closer at her instead, noting the heavy winter coat and woollen hat, although it was only the first week of October and the weather had yet to turn. Both obscured her appearance enough that from the side, he could not tell who she was though he knew beyond doubt that she was not a student or staff member.

“It is prohibited for parents to attend training sessions,” guessed Snape, announcing his presence and moving a little closer.

The witch did not startle but she did turn her face to him. She smiled at him in a way he thought was genuine, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She looked younger than he expected any parent of his students to look, perhaps close in age to him but minus any of the wrinkles of stress most of his generation now bore from the war.

“You’ll have to forgive me for being curious, Professor Snape,” she said playfully, still leaning against one of the pillars of the stand. “With Dementors of Azkaban attending Quidditch practices these days, I had thought the rules might be relaxed.”

Snape smirked with amusement and shook his head. “I’m afraid they remain the same as ever. I shall have to escort you out.”

He caught her looking at him then, up and down, as if trying to assess if she could beat him in a fight. He thought her eyes landed for a moment on his left forearm which was covered in his cloaks, but put it down to his imagination. She took one last look at the sky and the aerobatics that were happening before sighing dramatically in defeat.

“Very well, sir,” she said, moving off her post and coming closer to him. “If you must, lead me out, although I’m sure I can find my own way out if you need to stay and supervise.”

“I’m not certain I trust you to lead yourself out when you have led yourself somewhere you are not supposed to be.”

She laughed good-naturedly as Snape began to walk them out of the Quidditch grounds. “You have no further business in the castle?”

“No,” she confirmed, following a half-step behind him. “Professor Dumbledore did not wish to engage with me today though I am unsure why.”

She sounded amused rather than upset and suddenly it occurred to Snape. He paused suddenly on the path, looking at her grinning face again.

“You are Potter’s guardian then,” stated Snape, realising from the comment and the fact that she had been watching the training closely.

“My reputation precedes me as usual, I see,” she replied, sounding pleased. “Yes, I am Helena.”

She held one gloved hand out to him and he shook it briefly before starting to walk again.

“I have heard of you from several sources,” admitted Snape, focusing on the path ahead. The way was thankfully free of students due to the fall of evening and the call of dinner.

“Have you really?” asked Helena, sounding interested.

“You left quite the impression on Lucius Malfoy.”

“Ah, yes. And now I believe our children are becoming friends, I’m sure he’ll be most delighted.”

They walked in silence for some time after that, not uncomfortable. Snape listened to the sounds of crunching leaves and sticks under her flat leather boots feeling at ease in her presence despite the complaints he had heard from several of his colleagues, especially McGonagall.

When they reached the gates of Hogwarts, padlocked shut magically as usual, both adults stopped and looked at each other again.

“Thank you, Professor Snape, for escorting me back,” said Helena, bowing her head in respect.

“I feel the urge to remind you again that parents are not welcome on the grounds of Hogwarts during term time unless invited by the Headmaster,” said Snape, his voice dry.

Her smile back at him was lovely and polite. “Of course, sir, it won’t happen again.”

_Lie_ , said his brain, flashing suddenly with the emotion. _She is lying._

She looked between him and the gate for a moment, hesitating. “Can I ask you something, while I am here, Professor?”

He stared straight into her eyes, again subtly pushing for any hint of her thoughts and feeling nothing. “You may,” answered Snape, inclining his head.

“You’ll have to forgive me again, this time for me being nosy,” started Helena. “But I have wondered, on seeing you this evening, if you are around the same age as Lily and James Potter.”

Ice flooded down Snape’s spine unexpectedly, freezing every muscle in his body in place. “I am,” he gritted out, “We attended Hogwarts in the same year.”

She looked thoughtful. “So you would also have known Sirius Black.”

It was not a question, yet he knew it required an answer. “I did, once, yes.”

“What was he like? As a student, I mean?”

Walls of protective shields slammed themselves up in his brain, ensuring that Snape did not show a hint of emotion. “He was a bully,” he said simply, as if he had no emotional connection to the facts at all. “He was an entitled pureblood brat who was beloved for his looks despite the fact that he caused nothing but trouble while he was a student here.”

“Were you surprised when you heard about what he did?”

“Yes and no,” said Snape slowly. “Not that he murdered Pettigrew or the others in that alleyway, he always had a dangerous streak even as a child.”

“But?” asked Helena, sensing it in his words.

“But he loved James Potter as a brother. I have never been able to reconcile the fact that he betrayed the man after all of the years I watched them be toerags here together.”

Helena seemed to thoughtfully consider the information.

“Why do you ask?”

“I am looking for Sirius Black,” said Helena, without emotion. He gaped at her in surprise. “Any information I can find on his past can help inform my search. He is more evasive than I would have imagined.”

“What do you intend to do if you find him?”

She looked at him seriously, a smile spreading on her lips. He almost thought he could see fire spark in her eyes.

“I will kill him, if the occasion calls for it,” she said, and Snape believed instantly that she would. “Thank you, Professor Snape, for your help and for looking after Harry.”

He nodded politely as she left, stepping through the gates and turning on the spot to disappear with a flash of light. It was only as he was trudging back towards the castle that he realised he had not opened the gates for her. He brought the memory to his mind and watched again as she had touched her right hand to the lock and it had parted easily, allowing her to leave.

* * *

“Look at the state of his robes,” said Draco under his breath. “He dresses like our old house elf.”

Watching Professor Lupin, Harry secretly agreed but he hushed his friend anyway. It didn’t matter that his robes were patched and frayed. His lessons were always fascinating. From Boggarts to Red Caps and Kappas, he was learning all about creatures he never knew existed. He wondered if this was what they should have been learning all of last year, when Lockhart was teaching them about his favourite coffee flavours instead.

After several lessons, Harry still wondered about the boggart and what form it would’ve taken had Lupin allowed him to face it.

* * *

“Why is Weasley staring at you murderously?” asked Draco, glancing curiously between his year mates.

“It’s Crookshanks,” answered Hermione with a sigh.

“Crook _what?_ ”

“Crook _shanks_ , my cat! He thinks little Crooks’ wants to eat his rat.”

Ron made an ‘I’m watching you’ signal from across the hall. Draco waved two fingers back at him, freezing when he realised he had done it in Hermione’s defence. The girl beamed at him.

* * *

“No Hogsmeade permission form, Potter?”

Harry gazed at his House Head in thought. “Would you believe me if I told you I forgot it at home on the fridge, but it’s definitely signed?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Not in the least, particularly not when your mother wrote to me to inform me of the reasons why they are not permitting you to go.”

Harry winced. “Right, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’ll bring you back lots of Honeyduke’s sweets,” promised Hermione when he told her about the final denial.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Harry. “Are you going with Draco?”

She looked at the ground. “I didn’t ask him. He’s your friend really, more than mine. I didn’t want to assume he’d want to go with me.”

Harry thought that was ridiculous, considering that the three of them spent almost all of their time together outside of classes now. He knew that they had stayed for extra hours on their own too, after he had gone to bed or when he needed some alone time.

“If you find him out there, you should ask him to go around with you.”

She made a weak promise and left by herself, Harry watching her leave the castle and head across the grounds until she was too far gone for him to see. He made for the Owlery himself, thinking vaguely of seeing Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, “Harry?”

Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door.

“What are you doing?” asked Lupin. “Where are Hermione and Draco?”

“Hogsmeade,” said Harry, in a would-be casual voice.

“Ah,” said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.”

* * *

Professor Dumbledore hadn’t said they had to stay in their house groups, so Harry dragged Draco bodily over to where Hermione stood. On the Head Boy’s shout, they sat down on a sleeping bag each, facing each other in a small triangle. They were positioned in the middle of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, which made Harry more comfortable than the thoughts of sleeping beside Gryffindors who weren’t his best friend.

“What happened?” hissed Draco, aiming the words at Hermione. The girl looked pale and shaken. Harry leaned forward, waiting for her to say something. They had been dragged from their room with no explanations as to what was happening.

“It was Sirius Black,” whispered Hermione, trying not to gain the attention of the students around them. “He tried to break in to the Gryffindor Common Room, but the Fat Lady wouldn’t let him! He tore her portrait and now she’s missing.”

Harry stared at her. “He tried to break into Gryffindor Tower? Why would he do that?”

“Why would he do that if he wants to kill _you_ , you mean,” said Draco, poking him sharply.

“Maybe he thought you would be in that house like your birth parents,” suggested Hermione. “I think you’re one of the first Potters ever not to be a lion.”

Draco snorted. “Everyone knows that Harry is a Slytherin though, it was major news when it happened. Even Black would have heard about it in Azkaban, I guarantee it.”

“Why did he break in to their Tower then? What reason could he possibly have?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions here, Harry. _Why_ he did it, who knows and who cares, he’s a psychopath,” pointed out Draco. “ _How_ he did it is the worrying thing. How in Merlin’s name could he get inside the castle?”

“All of the enchantments on the castle,” agreed Hermione queasily. “It’s not like he could just apparate in, and what kind of disguise could fool those Dementors?”

Harry shivered. “Have either of you got any paper?”

Luckily, Hermione still had her book bag with her. She handed him a piece of parchment and a quill.

“What are you doing?” asked Draco, leaning over his shoulder as he scrawled a few sentences across the sheet.

“My parents will kill me if I don’t tell them what happened,” said Harry. Hermione nodded solemnly.

“But you won’t be able to post it ‘til morning,” said Draco.

When finished, Harry took out his wand and lay the parchment on the stone floor of the Great Hall. He set it on fire, watching it flash before it disintegrated fully, leaving not a single speck of ash behind. Draco looked on in wonder.

* * *

Snape approached her from behind as she looked at the damaged portrait, fingers skimming along the torn canvass. He knew this time exactly who she was and he lowered his wand to his side. She cocked her head to the side to acknowledge his presence, but did not turn to meet him. He walked until they stood side by side, both looking at the claw marks.

“How did you get in to the castle?” asked Snape quietly, more out of interest than accusation.

“Not the same way he did, anyway,” replied Helena.

Snape stared at her. “Do you know how he got into the castle?”

She shook her head. “I imagine there have been hundreds of ways in and out of this place crafted over the centuries. Whatever ones he is using, I don’t know them.”

They stood in silence for a minute.

“Dumbledore will not be pleased to find you here,” said Snape, glancing at the dark corridor behind them.

“He won’t,” said Helena surely. “Do you think it’s strange?”

“What?”

“That he tried to get into Gryffindor House. Surely he knows by now Harry is a Slytherin.”

Snape frowned. “Maybe it was habit, a desire to return to his old haunt. He was very fond of Gryffindor after all.”

“It still strikes me as strange. I feel like we’re missing something.”

Snape, despite his deep-seated old hatred for Sirius Black, couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was lying in the hospital wing. Draco stood at the foot of his bed in his Slytherin Quidditch robes, splattered with mud head to foot. Next to him sat Hermione, perched on another bed and looking like she’d climbed out of a swimming pool. In a chair to her right and closest to his bed, sat Arthur, smiling softly and looking completely dry and mud-free.

“Harry!” said Hermione, leaping to her feet. “How are you feeling?”

It was as though Harry’s memory was on fast forward. The lightning…the Grim…the snitch…and the Dementors…

“What happened?” he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped.

“You fell off your broom,” answered Draco, looking ill. “About fifty or sixty feet.”

“I thought you had died,” said Hermione tearfully, her eyes red.

“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Did we win?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, you won your very first official match,” he said dryly. “Your friend here caught the Snitch just as you fell from your broom.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Harry, grinning at Draco. The boy smiled back weakly.

“How did you get here?” asked Harry, turning to his dad.

“Well your Head of House was kind enough to write me and inform me of what happened immediately. He allowed me to floo straight here.”

“And Helena?”

“Otherwise occupied I’m afraid,” said Arthur. “She sends her regards. I’ve already told her you’re fine with no real lasting damage that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t magic away.”

“It was the bloody Dementors,” he told his father. “I must’ve fainted when they came. I’m a really good flyer, I promise.”

“I believe you,” said Arthur, sounding amused but also a little concerned. “I’ve spoken to Professor Dumbledore and he assures me there will be no more interruptions to your next Quidditch matches.”

“Excellent,” repeated Harry. “Did someone get my broom?”

Draco and Hermione immediately winced.

“Don’t look so distraught,” said Arthur at his look of horror. “Brooms can be easily replaced. Have a look through the catalogue and I’ll tell you my price range.”

* * *

On the Saturday morning of the second Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid goodbye to Draco and Hermione, who had agreed this time to go together having spent the last visit wandering alone. They were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, prepared for the snow that had begun to fall outside the windows. The castle was very still and quiet as Harry turned back inside, heading for the library to get a head start on some homework.

“Psst- Potter!”

He turned, half-way along the third floor corridor, to see Fred and George Weasley peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry curiously. He wondered why they had stopped him. He reckoned he had only talked to the twin Weasleys once before if ever, and guessed they wouldn’t have known him at all if it wasn’t for the scar he had on his forehead.

“Why aren’t you going to Hogsmeade?” asked one of them. Harry was unsure which seeing as they both looked so alike.

“My parents won’t let me go,” he said. “It’s a punishment for getting into trouble last year.”

Both teenagers wrinkled their noses identically. They then exchanged a glance with each other, seeming to talk with just their facial expressions.

“Well isn’t it lucky for you, Potter, that we found you,” said one Weasley.

“We have an early Christmas present for you!” finished the other. He nodded towards a classroom to the left of the statue. Harry followed Fred and George inside. He closed the door behind them.

Fred (Harry thought) pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of the jokes the twins were famous for, stared at it.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“This, Potter, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we’ve been thinking about it and your need’s greater than ours. After what you did to save our sister, Potter, we’ve got to find some way to fill the debt.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” continued George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

“Not that I’m not grateful,” said Harry carefully. “But what do I need a bit of old parchment for?”

The older teenagers looked at him in horror, launching into grand explanations and demonstrations of the parchment, which Harry learned was a map. _The Marauder’s Map_ , in fact. So much of what he knew of the Weasleys’ pranking lives suddenly made sense.

Later, upon scaring Draco and Hermione as they stood outside the shrieking shack, Harry pulled his new possession out again to show his friends.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Helena throwing a pillow at him.

“Wow, you really are a teenager now,” she remarked, bringing the pillow down again on top of his head. “Any other year, you would have been up two hours ago.”

He stumbled into their living room a couple minutes later, wiping sleep from his eyes. Arthur and Helena both sat waiting for him on one of the sofas. He looked with glee at the presents under the Christmas tree, a more humble pile in size than in years gone by. He chucked a poorly wrapped present at each of them – witch beauty products for Helena shopped by Hermione and a book about Wizarding crime for Arthur – and they thanked him kindly. He reached for the longest wrapped gift under the tree first, pulling it free with some difficulty.

“What is this?” he asked, before he started opening it.

“We didn’t put it there, we thought you had,” said Arthur.

Harry shook his head but ripped the paper off it anyway. He gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto the floor. It was a Firebolt, identical to the ones he had read about in _Which Broomstick?_ and seen last year through the shop window in Diagon Alley. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported at exactly the height for him to mount it. He stood, ready to try it out before Helena shouted:

“Stop! Don’t touch it!”

He turned to look at his parents, both of whom were also standing and looking concerned. Helena held her hands in the air and black leather gloves formed around them. She brushed past Harry and picked the broomstick up in her hands, feeling its weight.

“You didn’t buy this for me?” asked Harry in disbelief.

“We might love you, Harry, but not enough to spend the equivalent of a small car on you at thirteen,” said Arthur with concern. “Which makes me question who would spend that kind of money on you.”

Harry frowned. “You think it’s cursed?”

“Hard to say,” murmured Helena, running a hand up and down the fine wood. “But it’s staying with me until we determine it’s not.”

Harry slammed his palm into his head, thinking of what Draco and their Quidditch captain would say when they learned he’d got a _Firebolt_ and he wasn’t even allowed to use it.

* * *

_Helena,_

_What does your Patronus look like?_ _Professor Lupin says that sometimes there can be a family sort of connection with Patronuses. Patroni? I have to ask him the proper word._

_Do you think my Patronus would look like yours, or by family does he mean –blood- family? It turns out Professor Lupin was friends with my other dad when they were at school. Maybe he could tell me what animal my father could produce and I’ll see if it’s the same as mine. I’m a bit off making a corporeal Patronus but he thinks I’ll get it someday soon._

_He said too that he knew Sirius Black. Well, I don’t think he wanted to tell me but I asked him anyway. I guess if Draco turned out to be a raging maniac after we left school, I wouldn’t wanna tell people I knew him either._

_We are playing Ravenclaw this weekend. I’m really hoping there’s no Dementors this time around, but at least now I feel a bit more able to stand up to them._

_Hello to Dad and talk to you soon,_

_Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_The plural of Patronus is Patronuses. Would it kill you to pick up a book or ask Hermione/Draco? One of them at least should be capable of educating you. _

_Patronus forms are quite personal for people because they are often reflective of some of your personality traits. It can be considered quite rude to ask people what shape they make, especially as not everyone will be able to produce a corporeal charm._

_My Patronus is a badger. It’s not, actually, but I enjoy the thoughts of you distraught that you might end up with such a measly little animal when no doubt you are hoping for something huge and majestic. In truth, I lost the ability to produce a corporeal Patronus many years ago. This happens sometimes to wizards and witches, just as sometimes their animals will change forms with significant changes in their lives. Before you upset yourself – I have long made peace with myself not having a corporeal form. While incorporeal charms are generally viewed as weaker, it is important to remember that they will still perform the same necessary job when you need them to._

_I wish you well with your lessons with Professor Lupin. I am not overly surprised he knew Sirius Black – Hogwarts is, as you know, a small place and I imagine anyone around the same age as he is would have known both Black and your father._

_Good luck with the Quidditch match. I have attached something to this letter that should be of great use in the game. While I still suspect its origin, I cannot find anything of concern with it. To me, it holds no bad intentions. I hope it does not hurt too much that I was the first one to get to ride it. _ _J_

_Fly safe,_

_Helena_

* * *

“Could Crookshanks live with you too for a while? I’m afraid he’s going to be murdered in Gryffindor Tower?”

Harry and Draco exchanged puzzled looks.

“Well he’s not sleeping on my bed,” said Harry. Draco sighed.

* * *

“He was in Gryffindor Tower!” Draco told him in an almost excited whisper. Crookshanks was settled in his lap, purring contentedly while the boy ran a hand over the cat’s head. “He went after Weasley!”

“Which one?” asked Harry, thinking of the Map the twins had gifted him.

“Ronald,” informed Draco. “Slashed his curtains open while he was sleeping.”

“How did he even get in?”

“That stupid portrait, you know the one, the little knight. He let him in. Apparently Longbottom wrote down all the passwords for entry and lost them and Black found it.”

Harry face-palmed, thinking of the trouble poor Neville Longbottom and his poor memory would be in.

“Maybe it’s not you after all he does want to kill. Maybe it’s been Weasley all this time. Can’t say I blame him, really.”

_“Draco_.”

* * *

“Another break in, and again to Gryffindor.”

Snape folded his arms across his chest. “Are you referring to yourself, or to Black? For I think you have probably broken in more times than he at this point. Perhaps you are more of the threat.”

Helena smiled. “I’m not a threat. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Your son has been sneaking out of the castle,” the Professor told her, expecting the words to shock her. She merely raised an eyebrow.

“And you haven’t stopped him?”

“He is surprisingly difficult to catch in the act and, in all honesty, I have little desire to babysit one of my students every Saturday,” said Snape.

“He would not be Harry if he didn’t push the rules to suit himself best,” said Helena, sounding light-hearted rather than irked. “If you give me the form now I’ll sign it for you so you no longer have to think about stopping him.”

He looked at her signature, large and looping across the parchment in thought. “I half thought you might have found Black by now.”

“You and I both. It is taking far longer than I anticipated and I am getting frustrated and bored. But I feel a little closer than the last time I saw you.”

“Well ensure to get him before I have to listen to another Weasley insufferably recounting the tale of their heroic escape from the man.”

* * *

Harry bent over the crystal ball and stared, hard as he could, willing it to show him something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happened.

“Well,” prompted Professor Trelawney delicately. “What do you see?”

The heat was overpowering and his nostrils were stinging with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. He thought of Hermione and wished that he had also stormed out of this class months ago so he would not be sitting this exam.

“Er-” said Harry, “a dark shape…um…”

“What does it resemble?” whispered Professor Trelawney. “Think now.”

Harry cast his mind around.

“My mother, Helena, not the dead one,” he said, “and Professor Snape. They’re talking.”

Harry was sure that even if he ever did meet Helena, Snape was unlikely to make polite conversation. Trelawney hummed with disinterest and prompted him to look again.

“I guess I see a full moon? And Helena, she’s looking at the full moon. Yeah, that’s all I got.”

Professor Trelawney sighed.

“Well, dear, I think we’ll leave it there…A little disappointing…but I’m sure you did your best.”

Relieved, Harry got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud harsh voice spoke behind him.

“IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.”

Harry wheeled around. The Professor didn’t seem to hear him. She had gone rigid in her chair, her eyes rolling backwards. She looked as if she might be having a seizure. Harry thought about the hospital wing and how to get her there when suddenly the harsh voice came again.

“THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT…THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT…THE SERVANT WILL SET OUT…TO REJOIN…HIS MASTER…”

Harry stumbled as the woman came back to herself, fleeing down the ladder and down the corridor as the teacher called his name.

* * *

“Harry,” said Helena, cupping his face in the empty classroom. “You need to calm down.”

The urge to pace still overtook him. “She was talking about Sirius Black wasn’t she? He’s going back to Voldemort tonight.”

A grim expression passed over her face. “No, not now that you have told me. I can handle this Harry, but you need to trust me.”

“Not on your own, Lena. He’s killed so many people, what if he hurts you too?”

“While it is admirable that you want to help me, I assure you that I have been able to look after myself for far longer than you have been alive. Trust in me, Harry.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Harry nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to go back to your dormitory and stay there, all night, with Draco. You do not come out ‘til morning, no matter what thought strikes you. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“Tell Hermione to go back to her dorm too. You will all be safe there.”

“He’s already broken into Gryffindor twice,” argued Harry weakly.

“And he injured no students, either time, despite the Weasley boy’s tales. You will be safe there. This is not a fight that you should have.”

“Ok,” said Harry, putting his faith in her. “I need you to tell me when it’s over, when you’re safe.”

“I will, sweet boy,” said Helena, stroking his face and pressing a kiss to his hair. “I will be back to collect you from the _Express_ when this is all over. Look out for me.”

He nodded, pulling an old frayed piece of parchment from his pocket. “There’s one more thing,” said Harry, hesitating a little. “Some other students gave me this.”

He pulled out his wand and opened the Map. Lines and dots spread across the surface as it came to life. “It’s a map of the school and most of the grounds. If Sirius Black is here tonight, he’ll probably appear on this. Here, I’ll show you where we are-”

She covered his hand with hers, stopping him from unfolding the map to point out their location. “There’s no need,” said Helena, a little breathless. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Where did you get this?”

Harry thought about whether or not he should rat out his fellow students. “The Weasley twins gave it to me, as thanks for helping their sister last year. I don’t know where it came from before that.”

She nodded and folded the parchment, leaving the map open and active. She hid it in an inside pocket of the coat she wore, sticking out strangely, Harry thought, from the cloaks and robes he saw everyone in Hogwarts wear. It occurred to him suddenly that she had managed to get into the castle quickly, only twenty minutes or so after he had called for her. He thought of Hermione’s words on discussing the potential ways Sirius Black had gotten into Hogwarts and thought it strange Helena had managed it, wondering if she too knew secret passages like the Weasleys did.

“Time to go,” said Helena, patting him once more on the head. “Back to the Dungeons you go, Harry.”

They went their separate ways at the end of the corridor outside the classroom, Harry briefly wondering how she knew her way around when she did not ask him for directions.

* * *

Darkness had long fallen, the castle growing quiet as children headed for bed, when Helena finally spotted the name she was searching for on the _Marauder’s Map_. She walked slowly towards it, leaving the tree stump she had perched on at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and trailing in the direction the map advised her too. She stopped when it told her that she was only a hundred feet or so away, flinching at the name that marked her own presence. Helena squinted at the spot she knew she would find Sirius Black in and immediately she saw and understood. She shoved the parchment back into her coat pocket and turned to the side, calling out quietly. A house elf appeared instantly at her side.

“How might I’s be helping you, Mistress Witch?” the small creature asked, fidgeting uncertainly with the dirty cloth it wore. She smiled her most winning smile at the elf.

“Could you please provide me with some sausages?” asked Helena politely. The house elf clicked his fingers and a plate appeared, steam rising from the gathered bundle of pork. She bowed her thanks and took the food, ignoring the _crack_ that signalled the servant apparating away.

Helena walked forward, clicking her tongue. The sound gained the attention of the large lumbering dog, which she realised with amusement looked exactly like a grim.

“Hello, boy,” she said eagerly, almost cooing in a way that Harry would have said was out of character for her. “How did you get up here by yourself? You must be so hungry, there’s not much to eat out here.”

The dog looked at her with a level of suspicion that only an animal could convey. His long snout sniffed the air twice, whining obviously at the scent of the sausages.

Helena stopped moving when she came within a few metres of the dog, letting him close the distance between them. The hound sat at her feet politely, tongue panting and tail wagging. She held the plate of food in one hand and held a sausage out in the other, open palm to avoid any finger biting accidents. The animal seemed to inhale the meat and one by one, the six sausages she had started with disappeared.

The dog licked her hand upon realising that there were no further treats, causing her to laugh. She reached up and rubbed a spot behind an ear.

“Did you enjoy that?”

The dog yipped excitedly back at her, too convenient in its timing to be accidental. She smiled.

“I’m sure you must have been hungry,” started Helena, vanishing the plate in her hands and then rubbing them together to rid them of dog saliva and meat juices. “But really, you should learn not to accept food from strangers.”

The dog cocked his head in confusion, staring blankly at her. She stared comfortably back. She pulled a tiny empty vial from her coat pocket, holding it aloft and shaking it slightly.

“Courtesy of the Potions’ Master who sends his regards,” said Helena.

The dog stood but made no further move before it collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“All this time,” muttered Helena, speaking to herself as she poked at the animal which did not move, “and you were outsmarted by a bloody dog. You’re losing your touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of cliffhanger?! Aren't I cruel? Thanks for reading :)


	6. Competitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the irresponsibly dangerous school tournament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for graphic depictions of violence and death towards the end. 
> 
> Every time I post a chapter to this story, I become concerned of whether or not the madness is understandable to other people's brains and not just mine. You know the drill, huge deletions from the original story and if it hasn't been mentioned here, you can assume certain scenes/points happened as they did in the book. 
> 
> This chapter changes a little in that the main focus is around the 'adults', and much more time spent on Arthur. He felt a bit neglected in past chapters. 
> 
> Happy reading!

He was dreaming. Arthur knew it because he woke up in a chamber that was too familiar despite the fact that he hadn’t seen it in a thousand years. The bed clothes itched against his face and he was amused that his subconscious would remind him of the discomforts of life before Egyptian cotton and fabric softener. He rolled onto his back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling of the room and waiting for something to happen. Time blinked by and suddenly there were footsteps he still recognised, the sound of skirts brushing off the floor.

“Are you intending to stay in bed all day, my lord?” asked the soft and teasing voice.

He rolled again, this time onto his side, to look at his wife. She stood a few feet from the bed, dressed in a rich red gown that hugged her figure flatteringly. She smiled fondly at him which made him want to smile back but he found he couldn’t. He patted the bed beside him and she perched lightly on the edge, her hands resting on either side of her body. Arthur laid one of his hands on one of hers, tangling their fingers together.

“None of your tricks,” scolded Gwen. “I don’t have time for you today.”

“And what else, dear lady, takes your attention ahead of your king?” questioned Arthur dryly. Her face lit up brightly.

“It is your birthday feast! Have you forgotten?”

Arthur wondered if this was a memory or a fantasy constructed completely from his imagination. He nodded, which made Gwen scowl playfully.

“You are always the worst at celebrating your birthdays, Arthur,” she said, leaning forward and brushing at his fringe.

“How old am I today, Gwen?” asked Arthur, taking some joy at reminding himself of every line and curve of her face, the colour of her eyes, the bounce in her hair. When awake, he felt he could never quite recall the details, but they flooded back to him in high definition in his rare dreams.

“How old would you like to be?” retorted Gwen kindly. Suddenly the dream changed and it was no longer Gwen brushing at his hair. Touching him was Morgana, the beautifully innocent version of their teenage years. Her skin was ice white, contrasting sharply with her red lips and black hair.

“I didn’t realise this was a nightmare,” said Arthur. Morgana’s lips spread into the sly smile that had annoyed him for most of his their childhood and early adult years.

“Aren’t all of your dreams about us nightmares, brother?”

He closed his eyes, feeling both her hands cup his face and her lips brush a kiss against his temple.

“Why does it always end with you?” he asked, his dream self without frustration. “Why do you always come into my dreams?”

“Obviously after all of these years I still mean the most to you.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, their eyes boring into each other’s. The other question went unasked between them, however Arthur thought about it. _Why is it never Merlin?_

A ripple of movement ran through his body from his shoulders to his feet. He looked in confusion at Morgana, who rolled her eyes at him.

“That old witch is calling you,” said Morgana. “She summons you from your sleep.”

Arthur’s gaze drifted away from his half-sister and landed on the chamber wall as his ears caught the echoes of his name called in the distance.

“Oh how you’ve changed, Arthur,” commented Morgana, her hand slipping from his face and wrapping around his neck. Her grip tightened until he felt her nails dig into his skin, deep enough to begin to draw blood.

He gasped her name, hearing his own repeated in the background, louder this time.

“Run off to your witch and think about what you did to us,” she said, temper showing on her face for the first time. “Serve her and think how you betrayed me, your knights, your people, and worst of all, Merlin. Will this one have to die for you too in order for you to see her worth?”

The pain in his throat grew as her hold on him continued to tighten, crushing his trachea and preventing him from breathing. His hands scrabbled at his throat, trying to pull her hands off him in vain.

“ _Arthur_.”

He woke abruptly, jolting upright and hands flying to feel his throat. It ached as if bruised yet he breathed normally. He noticed Helena standing over him then, just an outline in the darkness of the room. She was standing in her nightgown, hovering.

“Sorry,” murmured Arthur. “I was having a nightmare.”

“I know,” she responded seriously. “You were hard to reach.”

“Morgana,” he told her. She nodded in understanding.

“It’s not the fault of your subconscious this time. It was Harry.”

Arthur frowned. “What?”

“He had a dream where he saw the actions of Voldemort. It distressed him so much that his magic emitted that emotion to the rest of us and poisoned all of our dreams.”

“ _What?_ ” repeated Arthur, swinging his legs out of the bed quickly. “Is he alright, where is he?”

“I’ve given him some _Dreamless Sleep_ so he’s out of it again,” said Helena, following Arthur as he headed out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

“How did this happen?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” said Sirius Black, standing in the doorway of Harry’s room and watching the teenager sleep.

The wizard looked worn and frazzled, much closer in appearance to the ghostly human that had first moved in with them than the more recent version that had been becoming more skin than bones and increasingly talkative. He ran a hand through his hair in nervous habit, stepping back briefly to allow Arthur to look in on the boy. Arthur let out a shaky breath when he saw the peaceful expression on the young wizard’s face.

“Voldemort,” said Arthur grimly, knowing without confirmation from Helena that it was the truth. “His soul has a hold on Harry’s.”

Sirius stared at him in horror, glancing at Helena as if expecting her to deny it. She did not.

“One of you is going to have to explain this to me.”

* * *

Harry adapted to the presence of the third adult in his house with surprising ease. It had been a huge shock to him on collection from King’s Cross when his parents had diverted from the usual journey home and brought him for tea and cake, informing him of what had happened in the weeks before he finished school.

“So he’s not actually a mass murderer?” asked Harry, licking icing off the top of a bun.

“Nope,” said Arthur.

“And you accidently let the real mass murderer escape?”

Helena winced. “Yes.”

“And he’s been living with you now for the last two weeks?”

Both adults nodded.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” exploded Harry, ignoring their hisses to keep his voice down. “Won’t it look bad for you, Dad, if they find out at work you’re harbouring a fugitive?”

“We’re not,” replied Arthur. “Helena has already been in contact with the Ministry with the help of Professor Lupin and they have been working on clearing Sirius’ name. It should take a few more weeks but then he should be free to go wherever he likes.”

“And hopefully move out,” muttered Helena.

Despite Helena’s evident disapproval, both Harry and Arthur enjoyed spending time with his Godfather. He was a novelty to Harry, someone who could spend hours discussing Quidditch and Hogwarts, who had opinions on his teachers and knew enough to help him with his homework. By the time Sirius had been declared innocent by the Ministry with a lengthy apology printed in the _Prophet_ , Sirius and Harry had become close friends.

Helena would not let him go anywhere with Sirius without ‘adult supervision’ which usually meant his dad or Remus, because she didn’t like to spend more time with his godfather than was strictly necessary.

“What’s the story with Arthur and Helena?” asked Sirius one day when they were out for a walk in Kensington Gardens. They sat on a patch of grass beside the Serpentine, watching tourists come and go with clunky cameras and embarrassing royal paraphernalia. They were accompanied by Remus that day as Arthur was working, reading a battered book quietly and paying them little attention.

“What do you mean?” questioned Harry back. The man shrugged.

“They’re a bit weird, aren’t they?”

“Sirius,” admonished Remus, not looking up as he turned a page.

“What? I’m not trying to be rude, I’m genuinely curious.”

Harry did his own shrug. “What do you want to know?”

“I just find them a bit strange,” he said, which Harry thought was funny considering Sirius himself was extremely strange and a little mental considering the twelve years he had spent in Azkaban. “When I saw McGonagall last week, she had a piece to say about Arthur and Helena.”

Harry noticed that he always called them that, by their full names. Sirius never referred to the couple as his parents, or as _dad_ or _mum_. Harry had realised that it must be difficult for him to reconcile the fact that he called someone other than his best friends by such terms of endearment. He didn’t mention it.

“Yeah, they don’t like Professor Dumbledore very much,” said Harry casually. He didn’t care either way how his parents felt about the headmaster, considering he had very little to do with the man himself.

“That’s a pity,” replied Sirius, biting his lip as if trying not to say something he shouldn’t. “Dumbledore’s a fantastic wizard and he’s done a lot for your family, Harry.”

Harry thought briefly of the rant Helena had raged on soon after he had first met Sirius formally about the damage Dumbledore had done to his godfather’s life. He said nothing.

“Well, forget about that anyway,” said Sirius suddenly, leaning back onto the grass with his hands behind his head. “I did manage to sort out your birthday present.”

Harry leaned towards him in interest. “What is it?”

Sirius smirked. “I might have hooked us a couple tickets to the Quidditch World Cup.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“ _Don’t_ say it,” said Remus immediately, putting up a hand to silence Sirius.

“Of course I am,” said the wizard. “But it’s not all sorted yet. _You_ have to be the one to convince Helena I can take you, and I don’t know how good your odds are, mate.”

* * *

Sirius bowed to Hermione in greeting, kissing her hand and complimenting her hair before Harry had the time to blink at his friend.

“He’s nothing like I expected,” she hissed at him later, the pair standing in the kitchen away from the adults.

“Yeah, same,” agreed Harry. “He’s a little mental, but he’s a lot of fun all the same.”

“He’s quite handsome too, isn’t he?” murmured Hermione, blushing slightly and nervously patting down her hair. Harry shoved her playfully.

“Don’t be weird,” he said. “No crushes on my family members, remember?”

He had introduced that rule after the first time she had met Arthur and stuttered anxiously at him.

“Tell that to Draco,” said Hermione under her breath, so quietly he did not hear her.

“What did you say?”

“Never mind.”

“Hermione,” called Helena, summoning the girl to her side. “Are you really sure you want to go to this stupid tournament with the boys? It’s not too late to stay at home.”

The younger witch smiled genuinely. “Thanks for the concern, Helena but I do. I might not like Quidditch but it’s not every day the World Cup is held on our doorstep. It would be a shame not to go.”

“A logical argument as usual,” said Helena dryly, sniffing in complaint. “Well if you must. I’m trusting you to make sure the boys don’t get into too much trouble.”

Hermione nodded seriously, promising she would as both Sirius and Arthur moaned in the background.

“It’s like you don’t trust us at all,” whined Sirius, packing food into a massive picnic basket.

“I don’t,” answered Helena without looking at him.

“Some of us are worthy of your trust, fair lady,” said Arthur dramatically, pressing a kiss to her cheek and making her smile reluctantly. “ _I_ will bring all the children home safely, especially Black.”

The bickering descended into laughter and the hours spent packing passed quickly. Eventually they all stood in the kitchen, facing each other, everyone weighted down with possessions except for Helena who had her arms folded. Sirius held out an old newspaper, prompting them all to touch a part of it.

“What’s that for?” asked Harry, half suspicious but also curious.

“It’s a Portkey,” answered Sirius simply.

“Authorised?” questioned Helena.

The man rolled his eyes. “Of course, courtesy of my new friends in the Ministry. Hold onto it, Harry, Hermione.”

“I’ve never travelled by Portkey,” said Hermione excitedly.

“Me neither,” said Harry.

“Nor me,” said Arthur.

“A first for you all, then,” said Sirius. He glanced up at Helena. “See you in a few days, I guess.”

She said something, but Harry couldn’t understand what it was as the Portkey initiated, spinning them out of the house in Kensington and dropping them in a field far off.

* * *

“Get up! Harry, come on now, boy, get up, this is urgent!”

Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit the canvas of their tent.

“’S’ matter?” he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down the bunk and reached for his clothes but Sirius, who was still dressed and smelling slightly of beer, said, “No time, Harry – just grab a jacket and get outside.”

He nodded, stumbling into Hermione and catching her as she pulled both of them out of the tent.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field towards them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them…They didn’t have faces…Then he realised that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers. Two of the figures were very small.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Harry, realising in horror as the floating people drew nearer that they were Muggles. Hermione squeezed his hand, making him realise that there were two people he had to protect.

“He went for a walk a little while ago,” said Sirius, appearing behind them with his wand outstretched. “I’m sure he’s fine. I’m going to help the Ministry wizards, you two, get into the woods and stay together. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”

Harry did not say goodbye, only nodded seriously, tugging Hermione with him in the direction of the trees. The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium were extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by faces of people he could not see and he crashed into something soft and warm.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Harry stopped, clutching at the person hopefully. “Draco?”

Beside him, Hermione illuminated her wand, a beam of light highlighting their classmate, who looked pained.

“What are you doing here?” asked Draco, a faint edge of panic in his voice.

“We came to see the World Cup,” said Harry, a little angrily. “Which you would know if you actually _read_ any of the letters I sent you all sum-”

“Shut up,” returned the boy. “I mean, right here, _now_.” He gestured at Hermione. “They can’t see her; they’re hunting Muggles out there.”

Harry stared at him but nodded tightly. “We need to keep going, further into the forest. Are you coming?”

The boy hesitated and for a minute Harry thought that he wouldn’t. Draco took one more look at Hermione, seeming to take in her pale face and shaking muscles and he nodded back.

“Let’s _go_ ,” said Hermione, and all three set off further into the woods.

“I think I lost my wand,” Harry told them some time later as they continued to traipse through the muck and moss.

“ _How_ could you lose your wand at a time like this?” hissed Draco, still on edge from an earlier encounter with some of the Weasleys who had accused him of being a part of the Muggle hunters.

“Well, I didn’t mean to, did I?” retorted Harry, feeling angry with the whole situation more than the other boy.

“Would you two stop it?” whispered Hermione madly. “You’re going to draw attention to-”

Her words died as a shape exploded in the sky, vast and green and glittering. All three teenagers stared at the shape of the skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

“What is that?” asked Harry, stunned in place.

“We need to get out of here,” said Draco, setting off with a jog back in the direction they had come, back towards where they had seen goblins and witches and wizards trying like they had been to flee.

“Harry, come on, _move_!” Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was pulling him backwards.

“What’s the matter?” he asked again as they followed Draco.

“It’s the Dark Mark, Harry! You-Know-Who’s sign!”

“ _Voldemort’s_ -”

“Come _on_ , Harry!”

They almost collided with Draco, realising their friend had stopped suddenly having almost barged into someone himself. Draco shirked back from the man, none of the teenagers able to tell if he was friend or foe in the darkness. Harry clutched at the back of Draco’s clothes, pulling him closer in a futile attempt at protecting him considering he was wandless. Hermione held his other hand, her body wrapped half around his as she drew her wand in front of them and over Draco’s shoulder.

“Leave us alone,” she said, her voice shaking and the opposite of threatening. “I’m warning you.”

“ _Hermione,”_ said the man, and Harry knew he would recognise the voice anywhere.

“ _Dad?_ ” he asked, ready to cry with relief.

Hermione cast another _lumos_ , her wand lighting the clearing around them and clearly showing the face of Arthur. By wandlight, he looked older and furious, lines marking his face that Harry hadn’t seen before.

Arthur reached past Draco to touch his son, as if to comfort himself that Harry was real. He next touched Hermione, fingers brushing against a scrape on her cheek. Finally, he turned to Draco, looking over the adolescent in the poor light.

“We have to leave,” said Arthur solemnly. “We’ve been here too long already.”

His leather jacket rustled as he pulled something out of his pocket. It caught in the light of Hermione’s wand and Harry saw that it his house keys, the bundle clanging loudly in the silence of the forest.

“Hold on everyone,” said Arthur. Hermione and Harry immediately did so; Draco did not. “You too, kid.”

Draco hesitated again but grabbed a key after Harry nudged him.

“Avalon Gate,” said Arthur and the familiar stomach wrenching feeling of a Portkey flooded through Harry.

* * *

Draco explored Harry’s room with a sense of wonder, amusing both him and Hermione greatly despite the circumstances of his visit. He must have flicked the light switch on and off about a hundred times but Harry found it strangely soothing.

“My father is not going to be happy that I’m here,” he said tonelessly. Harry, who had had the pleasure of meeting Mr Malfoy once, secretly agreed.

“I’m sure Helena will deal with it,” replied Harry, hoping he sounded more confident than he actually felt.

“My father hates your parents,” admitted Draco. “That’s why I didn’t write back to you all summer. I wasn’t even allowed to read your letters. He lit the few you sent at the start on fire.”

“Good thing I didn’t try write to you then,” said Hermione weakly. She was sitting on Harry’s bed, his duvet wrapped around her shoulders.

The three of them fell silent, hearing the dull echoes of people arguing on the other side of the house. They had only been able to make out part of the fight, Helena’s voice rising to shrill levels on the return of Sirius Black. It was obvious that she did not approve of him leaving them to fend for themselves, but Harry understood his motivations. He probably would have done the same thing, although when he had said as much to Draco the boy had called him _tragically Gryffindor._

“How long do you think she’ll shout at him for?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Probably forever,” said Harry. “She already didn’t trust him. She’ll never get over this now that she has an actual reason not to.”

The door to his room slid open suddenly, the woman of their discussion behind it.

“Everyone still feeling ok?” asked Helena, glancing at each of them in turn. They nodded. “Draco,” she said, facing the blond, “I have written to your mother and she has requested you Floo home. Are you happy to do that?”

His friend nodded, although Harry reasoned that he didn’t look happy about it at all. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes, then. If you can join me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

“I suppose I’ll see you in school?”

He let out a gasp of shock when Hermione tackled him, closing her arms around him in a hug. “You’ll write to us, won’t you, if they’re horrible to you and you need to be saved?”

Harry stood up and followed Hermione, encasing both of them in a group hug. They stood like that for a few seconds, comfortable.

“See you in school,” said Draco again.

* * *

“My mother wanted me to go to Durmstrang,” admitted Draco as they watched the students parade into the hall.

Harry sniggered. “Yeah, that outfit would have really suited you.”

Draco pushed him off the bench. “No, I should have gone to Beauxbatons. Look how good-looking their students are, I would have fit right in.”

* * *

Harry was shook away by a tiny house elf, begging his pardon and earnestly telling him that Professor Snape awaited him in the Common Room. Harry pulled his school cloak over his pyjamas, stumbling down the stairs while rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Your presence has been requested by the Headmaster,” said Snape, looking with disdain at his sleeping clothes. Harry folded his arms across his chest in embarrassment. “Come along then, I believe your parents are waiting there.”

Harry pushed open the door to Professor Dumbledore’s office, blinking as the bright light surprised him after the dark corridors. The sounds of heated voices greeted him. He saw Dumbledore first, sitting silently in his grand chair, eyes twinkling as he spotted Harry at the door. Next he noticed his father and Helena, standing together, and Sirius across from them. Professor McGonagall stood near to Sirius, looking stern while Ludo Bagman sat sleepily in a chair by the desk.

“I do not care for your magical artefact,” Helena was saying. “I will crush it myself if you show me where it is so it has no hold over him.”

Professor McGonagall puffed out an angry breath. “Never in my life have I seen such _arrogance-_ ”

“Minerva,” said Snape from where he stood behind Harry, announcing their presence in the office. All eyes swivelled to focus on them.

“Harry!” exclaimed Sirius, waving a welcoming hand at the boy. He gestured for him to come closer. Harry looked over at Helena and stayed where he was, not wanting to seem like he was choosing sides.

“What’s going on?” asked Harry, looking at each of the adults in turn.

“We have come to remove you from this idiotic competition,” said Helena.

“Now hang on a second,” said Sirius. “ _You_ came to do that, _I_ came to support Harry in his decision.”

“There is no decision to be made here. Harry is underage, he cannot consent to participate.”

“I didn’t decide to enter the competition anyway,” said Harry. “I didn’t put my name in that thing.”

“We know,” confirmed Arthur, speaking for the first time.

“You can take me out of the competition?”

“They cannot,” said Bagman tiredly.

“ _Yes_ ,” answered Helena at the same time.

“It is a magically binding contract.”

“And I’ve told you what I will do with it-”

“Stop,” said Harry, repeating the word to make himself heard over the rising voices. “I didn’t enter the tournament, but now a part of me thinks I have to see it through. Even if I am terrified of what will happen.”

He saw Sirius grin. “I think you’ve made the right choice, Harry. I knew you wouldn’t back down from the challenge and you will show them what a fourteen year old Potter can do.”

Helena began to laugh in disbelief. She turned to her husband. “Arthur?”

His dad avoided her gaze. “Are you sure about this, Harry?”

He nodded.

“Arthur, you can’t be serious-”

“If Harry wants to proceed with the tournament, I will not stop him. I would be a hypocrite to do so.”

Helena scoffed in disbelief, fury flitting across her face so severe that Harry became afraid. The emotion disappeared again after a moment and her face smoothed out, expressionless. She moved from standing beside Arthur and approached him until they stood nose to nose. Harry was only just shorter than her now.

“You are making a mistake,” said Helena, speaking to him as if there was no one else in the room. “This is the only warning you will get from me, and if you choose to ignore it now, the consequences will be yours alone to accept. I will not run in to save you this time, the rules are different. I will not interfere with a _magical contract_.”

Harry gulped, feeling a nasty mix of fear and anger in his stomach all of a sudden. “I don’t need you or anyone else to save me.”

Arthur stepped forward. “Helena don’t-”

Helena laughed, a cruel sound that made Harry step away. “Give Death my regards, then.”

There was a blinding flash of light, so bright that Harry cried out in pain. His arms flew up to cover his irritated eyes and he felt to the floor, hearing the groans of others around him. When the light faded and he wrenched his hands from his eyes, Harry noticed that Helena was gone and that everyone in the office looked as ill and dishevelled as he did except for the headmaster.

Dumbledore sat in his chair, unruffled, looking curiously at the spot where Helena had stood.

* * *

“I appreciate the lift,” said Arthur sarcastically as he opened the front door to admit them into the house.

Sirius Black followed him inside, shrugging casually. He disappeared into the guest room he had been using for a minute before rejoining Arthur in the living room. He lifted the bottle of whiskey and shook it generally in the other man’s direction. With his wand he conjured two tumblers.

“You want to tell me what that was with your wife back there?” asked Sirius as he half filled each glass. He handed one to Arthur, who sighed.

“That was my wife losing her temper.”

Sirius hid his expression in his drink. “That was one hell of a temper.”

Arthur agreed, emptying half his alcohol in one sip.

“Is she,” started Sirius cautiously, “you know, human?” Arthur stared at him. “It’s just, what she did there, I’ve never seen anything like it before and Hogwarts is warded heavily. The reason we had to walk to the gates before I could magic us home was because there are jinxes in place to stop people from apparating in or out like that.”

Arthur didn’t answer for the longest moment. “She is as human as I am,” he said finally. “She was just hurt. She pretends that she does not really love Harry as I do, or consider herself his parent but I know it’s not true. She was trying to protect him, and she was right. I shouldn’t have disagreed with her.”

“What did you mean, when you said that you would be a hypocrite if you said no?”

Arthur smiled wryly. “By Harry’s age, I had fought in many tournaments against my father’s best wishes.”

Sirius frowned in confusion. “Are Muggle tournaments a thing?”

“They used to be, but they’re not as common as they once were.”

Sirius refilled their glasses as the drink disappeared quickly. “So, is a divorce on the cards?” Arthur blinked at him. “Sorry, I don’t want to seem too forward or anything, but I’ve spent a lot of time here these last few months. I know you two don’t sleep together, I’ve been wondering about why exactly you’re together for a while.”

Arthur looked him straight in the eye. “There are more reasons to be married than sex.”

“I thought it was the only reason to get married.”

“You’ve never been married then,” said Arthur with amusement.

“No, and never wanted to be,” replied Sirius.

“I’ve been married twice,” said Arthur. “Both times for love, but not necessarily for romantic attraction. I have not regretted either. Helena will be mad at me for a while, but she’ll forgive me when she’s ready.”

“All these months, I thought your wife was the true enigma, but you’re starting to make me think I was wrong.”

* * *

“She _tore through_ the wards?”

“Well, what other explanation can there be? We know there’s no way for a person to apparate within the walls of the castle. She was there one second, and gone the next!”

“But she couldn’t just tear through the wards either, Draco! Imagine how powerful your magic would have to be to be able to do that. The wards for Hogwarts are ancient, I’m not even sure Professor Dumbledore could do it as the headmaster.”

“Well she did _something_ ,” said Harry. “It’s left me with an almighty headache.”

“Maybe she was right, Harry,” said Hermione. “Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to be a champion.”

“I’ve already had this argument with her, I’m not having it with you too,” he replied hotly.

“Don’t get thick with her,” said Draco, defending Hermione. “She’s just looking out for you. It’s not her fault your mother doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Harry scowled. “I’ve decided I don’t care anyway.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really?”

“She was a bitch to me for no reason,” said Harry. “Both Sirius and Dad were willing to support me. Just like usual she knows better than everyone else, and for once I’m fed up of it.”

Hermione wringed the end of her cloak between her hands nervously. “I hope you’re right, Harry.”

* * *

Two days before the first task, Harry sat waiting by the Common Room fire, unsure what exactly he was waiting for. Draco had abandoned him for bed, telling him that he didn’t have the energy to wait around all night. Harry glanced at the clock above the fireplace, reading the time and thinking that his fellow Slytherin had been the wise one.

Then the heads of Arthur and Sirius had appeared in the flames and Harry had almost had a heart attack.

“Sirius, Dad, what are you doing here?”

“We couldn’t _not_ come and see you before you face your first task,” said Sirius. “We came to ease your nerves.”

“As much as Sirius might ease anyone’s nerves,” muttered Arthur. His head ducked in the flames for a moment and Harry heard him curse. “Show some maturity, Black.”

Harry smiled. “How are you doing?”

“Never mind us, how are you doing?” said Sirius seriously.

For a second, Harry tried to say ‘fine’ – but he couldn’t do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he had in days – about how no one believed he hadn’t entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the _Daily Prophet_ , and how Hagrid had illegally shown him what he was to face.

“And I’m a goner,” he finished desperately.

“Dragons’ hearts are on their right side so you need to target there,” said Arthur. They turned to look at him. “What?

“Is the _Muggle_ giving Harry advice on how to kill a magical creature?” asked Sirius teasingly. Harry muffled his laugh behind his hand.

“I’ll have you know I’ve faced plenty of dragons in my time,” said Arthur indignantly. “I’ve killed a dragon too.”

“With what, Dad?” asked Harry with obvious amusement despite his earlier feelings of desperation.

“With a spear,” replied Arthur, which sent Harry and Sirius into fits of giggles. He heard his father curse under his breath at the pair of them.

“Well, never mind your fantasies of spearing dragons to death, Arthur. Harry needs to figure out a way to best the dragon, not to _kill_ it. It’s intimidating, Harry, but it’s the same as any other creature. They have their own weaknesses. If it was me, I’d think about the eyes. Take out its sight and it’s immediately more vulnerable.”

Harry’s thoughts turned to the basilisk which hadn’t at all been vulnerable despite its blindness. “What if I can’t beat it?” he asked, voicing the doubt that had been in his head since Hagrid had showed him the dragons. “What if it turns me into a crispy snack?”

“What happened to positive thoughts?” asked Sirius. “With that kind of attitude, you will be dragon food and Merlin help me, but I cannot read the article Rita Skeeter writes about that.”

* * *

Snape smirked when he saw her, heading for the stadium stands amongst the crowds of students and press. She seemed to notice his attention and looked up to catch his eye, ambling over to him. She was dressed just as he was: entirely in black although he reckoned her outfit would be considered far more fashionable than his own.

“I had wondered if you would appear,” said Snape when she was within earshot. She raised her eyebrows which were only just visible from behind Muggle sunglasses.

“I was hardly going to miss the opportunity to watch my kid gruesomely murdered by a caged animal, was I?”

Snape snorted. “And I can see you’re keeping positive for the boy’s benefit.”

They began to walk again in the direction of the stand, the students giving them a wide berth thanks to his reputation.

“Dumbledore has not forbidden me from the grounds yet,” she said as they moved.

Snape sent her a look. “Would he be able to, even if he wanted to? I have yet to discover how you managed that particular trick and I saw him after that night. He is as confused as I am.”

Helena smirked. “Sometimes the more you think about something, the further you get from the answer.”

“I saw your husband earlier, with Black.”

Her expression did not change as they climbed the stairs to take a seat. Snape had deliberately led them towards a stand filled with students, aware that Helena would likely feel unwelcome amongst the teachers and relatives gathered considering recent history.

“Yes, they are joined at the hip these days. I fancy that he reminds Arthur of someone he used to know, another scoundrel I never had the pleasure of meeting.”

She sat down gracefully in her seat, her body rigid and straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap. His eyes focused on her hands as he sat beside her.

“He will be ok,” murmured Snape, attempting to ease her unspoken fears.

“If he is not, it will not be my fault this time,” answered Helena, her voice betraying a hint of fear.

* * *

“That Karkaroff is a biased scumbag,” said Sirius, edging Draco aside in order to wrap him in a hug. “You were amazing, Potter! You deserved to win outright!”

“Well done, Harry,” said Arthur, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Madame Pomfrey has already healed him,” said Hermione. She still held one of Harry’s hands and her other was linked around Draco.

“Great woman, Poppy is,” said Sirius, bouncing around the tent.

“Isn’t this just a lovely sight?” said someone new from the opening of the tent.

It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes, the Quick-quotes quill in her hand blending perfectly against them. “Congratulations, Harry!” she said, beaming at him. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing the dragon? How you feel _now_ about the fairness of the scoring?” Her eyes drifted to look at their assembled group, lingering on Arthur for a moment too long.

“Yeah, you can have a word,” said Harry savagely. “ _Goodbye._ ”

He turned back to his family, allowing their happy spirits to wash over him and ease away some of the adrenaline-inspired anxiety from the task.

* * *

The newspaper landed in front of Arthur with a _whack_. He bristled slightly, pushing away from his desk and looking up from his laptop with a raised eyebrow. Before him stood Helena, dressed impeccably despite the fact that she had not been home in several weeks.

“The prodigal wife returns,” said Arthur sarcastically, reaching for the paper and unfolding it.

“This is _my_ house as well, even if you insist on allowing Black to stay here,” replied Helena, falling into a chair across from him that hadn’t existed mere seconds before. “Why hasn’t he moved out yet?”

“His ancestral home in London isn’t fit for human habitation yet,” he said distractedly, flipping through the paper. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Page four. What did you do to make that Skeeter woman write such a lengthy review of your backside?

Arthur wiped a hand across his face, groaning and grinning in equal measure. “Clearly she knows great beauty when she sees it.”

He expected the slap around his ears, but flinched anyway. “Helena?” he asked, eyes flickering across the article without really reading it. “Don’t be mad with me.”

She didn’t answer for several minutes, standing at last as she made to leave. “I will not jump in and save him. Not this time.”

“I’m really hoping you don’t have to.”

She smiled sadly at him, as if he was a naïve little child. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel it building, Arthur. You know as well as I do that this will not end well.”

Helena did not allow him time to answer, disappearing into the air with a quiet crack.

* * *

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged a look. “Sounds dangerous,” commented Draco quietly, earning a laugh from the girl.

Harry huffed at them. “You two are supposed to be _my_ friends, not friends with each other. Stop ganging up on me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What have you been thinking about?”

“I want to ask Cho Chang to the Ball.”

His friends looked at each other again and turned on him with pity.

“You can’t ask Chang out,” said Draco. “She’s going out with Diggory.”

“She’s _what?”_

“Don’t you pay attention to any of the school gossip?” questioned Hermione.

Harry shook his head. “Well, of course I don’t but clearly you two do.”

Draco blushed slightly. “Isn’t it a good thing we do! Imagine how pissed that Hufflepuff would be if you asked out his girlfriend!”

Harry flopped dramatically in front of them. “Why is this so difficult? Why are girls so hard to talk to?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” said Hermione, unimpressed.

“Have you two sorted your dates, then?”

Both students nodded back at him. Harry groaned. “It’s just me being useless then?”

Hermione and Draco looked at each other for a third time, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“You should learn from Hermione,” said Draco slyly. “She has all the boys throwing themselves at her feet looking for a date.”

The girl huffed. “I do not, stop that, Draco.”

“I’m not even counting Weasley in that, I don’t consider him a boy to be honest.”

* * *

“Have you _seen_ Ronald Weasley’s robes? I didn’t know it was possible to look so embarrassing.”

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Your photographs of the Ball were fantastic, both you and Draco looked smart and Hermione was very beautiful. I almost didn’t recognise any of you in your outfits – you look more and more like proper adults with every passing month._

_I missed having you home for Christmas but I can tell you had a much better time in Hogwarts then you would have had here. I spent the day with Sirius and Remus in London. As usual the task of cooking fell to me, but I was a little out of my depth in Sirius’ kitchen. You will have to see it yourself over the holidays. I believe it is more ancient than any of us and built for magic users and even without those problems, I had to physically wrestle a sentient whisk to the ground while I was making the stuffing. The house still needs an awful lot of work to make it liveable – I think your godfather is hoping you might be willing to contribute to the cleaning this summer. We’ll discuss that when the time comes._

_I am glad to hear you are working on preparing for the second task. You know that I have little help I can offer you in that area. If you wrote to Helena, I’m sure she would be better help than me or even Sirius. I know you have both said that you do not wish to speak to each other, but if you reached out I’m sure she would answer. It makes me sad that you are not talking – I know you love each other deeply._

_As for the other issues, with the Professor. I have talked to Sirius about them and he assures me that A.M. is a heroic character of the highest morals. I am not so sure. I cannot truly speak as I do not know the man, but I do know that you have had a bad run of Professors in that subject, Remus excepted. If I were you I would proceed with great caution if you are suspicious of his intentions._

_I look forward to your next letter, Harry, and to seeing you at the second task. The one advantage to all of this madness this year is that I see you much more frequently, and get to learn about your life at school._

_Love you and see you soon,_

_Dad_

_P.S. Write to Helena._

“Are you going to write to her?” asked Draco, reading the letter over his shoulder.

“Of course not.”

* * *

Harry took the pouch off Snape, opening it and peering in at what looked like a mess of herbs in confusion.

“What is this?” he asked, sniffing the greenery and noting the damp smell with a wince.

“ _This_ ,” replied Professor Snape, eyes boring a hole in Harry’s head. “You did not get from me. If anyone asks, you broke into my stores and retrieved yourself. You wouldn’t be the only one to do so at the moment.”

“Er, right,” said Harry, rubbing his head awkwardly. “What do I do with it?”

“You eat it,” said Snape simply. “Not now, idiot! Before the task. It will give you the ability to breathe underwater for the length of time required.”

“Sir, how did you-”

“Don’t ask me any more questions,” interrupted Snape. “I will not see one of my students drown in this stupid competition, and you are frighteningly incompetent at times, Potter. I had hoped Mr Malfoy and Ms Granger would encourage you to be more proactive at reaching solutions for this competition but alas they do not seem to be able to penetrate your thick ego.”

Harry felt the urge to argue yet didn’t, looking again at the bag of weeds. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

“Poor James must be rolling in his grave,” muttered Sirius, as the clapping and cheering died down. “To think that the most precious person for them to take off Harry in this entire place would be a _Malfoy_.”

“I imagine they would have taken Hermione if they hadn’t needed someone for the Bulgarian,” replied Arthur quietly. “He seems like a nice boy at any rate, but I would be concerned how his parents react to this news.”

* * *

Arthur folded the parchment and replaced it in the envelope it had arrived in. With a lengthy sigh, he pulled a jumper over his head and headed for his fireplace. He stepped inside of it, grimacing as he grasped the powder and dropped it on his feet. He stumbled out of another fireplace gracelessly, dusting soot off his shoulders and wincing as he knocked his head against a marble mantelpiece.

He heard footsteps thunder towards him and the parlour door opened, admitting a dirty and dishevelled wizard.

“Hey, man,” said Sirius Black in greeting, running a hand through his long hair. Arthur held the envelope out to him in response, perching nervously on an old armchair in concern that it may decide to eat him.

“That boy attracts trouble like nothing else,” said Sirius when he had finished reading. “Karkaroff is definitely up to something.”

“I’m going to need you to explain to me about the people he wrote about,” said Arthur. “I’m out of the loop on the who’s who of the Wizarding world.”

Sirius nodded, plopping down beside him on the arm of the chair without a concern. “The man that’s missing, Crouch, I’ve already told you about,” he said darkly. “That’s the one that landed me in Azkaban without a trial. At the end of the first war, he personally filled most of the cells of that hole by himself. One of those he tried to go after was Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang. He was a Death Eater too, but he escaped conviction by ratting out some of Voldemort’s inner circle, most importantly, Crouch’s own son.”

Arthur blew out a breath. “That’s an awkward history to share.”

“ _That’s_ putting it mildly,” answered Sirius. “Trust me, if anyone has anything to do with Crouch disappearing, it will be Karkaroff. Maybe Snape too?”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Haven’t I told you? He was another of Voldemort’s men but somehow he convinced Dumbledore to let him out. He’ll never convince me though, I’ve known that slimy bastard since we were kids. There’s nothing good about him.”

Arthur frowned. “Helena quite likes him, I think.”

Sirius levelled him with a knowing look. “Maybe that should make you concerned about your wife.”

* * *

“What did you do when you had the dream in the summer?” asked Hermione, massaging his head lightly with her fingers. She sounded concerned.

Harry grimaced. “Helena gave me something that put me back to sleep.”

Hermione hesitated. “Harry, maybe you should-”

“ _No_. I’m not writing to her. I’ll tell Dad and Sirius about it, but I’m still not talking to her.”

“ _Harry.”_

* * *

They were in the library, all three of their heads close together as they peered over another spell book. Each teenager read the words to themselves about a charm that reminded Harry of the Hansel and Gretel story, marking your path through strange territories so you could find your way home. They had been studying such charms and curses for weeks, Hermione and Draco seeming to make it their mission to prepare him for what was to come in the final task. Harry reckoned that by the end of the year, the three of them would be far ahead of their peers in knowledge about magical creatures and protective spells.

“I can’t help but feel a huge impending sense of doom,” said Hermione, the Monday before the Third Task.

Neither boy disagreed which only appeared to heighten the feeling she expressed.

* * *

Harry tackled his father in a hug, laughing as the man picked him off the ground only slightly.

“You have gotten too heavy, you used to be a feather of a thing,” complained Arthur, releasing him and rubbing at his arms with a wince. Harry exchanged quick hugs with both Sirius and Remus, unable to help his eyes from searching the area around them.

“She will come,” said Arthur quietly. “She won’t be able to help herself. We can find her if you like.”

Harry shook his head dismissively, addressing his Godfather. “I really hope you’re not disappointed when I lose, Sirius.”

The man grinned back, reaching forward to ruffle Harry’s already messy hair. “In our eyes, mate, you’re already the winner.”

“That was incredibly sappy,” murmured Remus, receiving a playful shove from his friend and making Harry laugh.

“Come on, we’ve got some time before the task begins. I want to learn anything I can from you before it starts.”

* * *

Snape flinched when he noticed her standing beside him. He could not say when she arrived.

“They have disappeared from the maze,” he said solemnly, waiting for her reaction. It did not appear to be a shock to her.

“That trophy was a Portkey,” replied Helena, her tone empty of emotion. “I assume that was not a planned part of the competition?”

Snape shook his head. She nodded back. “I suppose we shall have to wait and see what happens then.”

* * *

Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s body. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting…waiting for someone to do something…something to happen…and all the while, his scar burned dully on his forehead.

A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.

“Harry! _Harry_!”

He opened his eyes. He was looking up at the starry sky, and his father hovered over him. Arthur’s face was grave with concern but Harry felt instant relief. He let go of the cup, but he clutched Cedric to him even more tightly. He raised his free hand and seized Arthur’s wrist, while his face swam in and out of focus.

“He’s back,” Harry whispered. “He’s back. Voldemort.”

Arthur’s face did not change. He knelt down beside Harry, shielding his face from the crowd as he cradled it in his hands. “It’s ok, Harry,” repeated Arthur, as the crowd began to roar with the realisation that Cedric was dead. Harry felt the tears spill from his eyes. “It’s ok, Harry, I have you and you’re safe. I have you, I promise. He can’t hurt you here.”

Arthur continued to hold him as they pried him off the body. He lifted Harry by the shoulders and stood him on his feet, encouraging the boy to lean his head into his chest and keeping his arms wrapped protectively around Harry’s tired form. Harry could hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears and his stomach felt ill, the desire to scream building inside of him.

“He needs the hospital wing,” someone was saying to Arthur, the words reaching Harry’s ears. “We need to get him away from this crowd.”

Arthur must have agreed because he gently guided Harry away, half-carrying him through the frightened crowd. The other man, who Harry recognised to be Professor Moody, asked him questions as they walked.

“There is no need for him to speak yet,” said Arthur commandingly as they passed the Durmstrang Ship and crossed the entrance hall of the castle. “Now is not the time.”

Moody muttered his apologies, pulling them into a classroom and encouraging Arthur to sit the teen wizard down at one of the desks.

“He needs the hospital wing,” said Arthur in complaint, watching as Moody went to the top of the classroom and grabbed a potion from a shelf.

“I want him to drink this first, it will help him feel better,” said Moody gruffly. He tipped the potion into Harry’s mouth and Arthur did not stop him. Harry recognised the burning taste of _Pepper up_ potion and instantly felt a little better, opening his eyes and blinking at both the teacher and his father.

The fog in his brain lifted suddenly and he suddenly remembered a critical detail.

“There’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There’s a Death Eater here — they put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end —”

Harry tried to get up, but Moody pushed him back down. Arthur looked uncomfortable with the man touching his son and moved to stand between them.

“I know who the Death Eater is,” said Moody, eyes flashing between father and son.

“Karkaroff?” said Harry wildly. “Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?”

“Karkaroff?” said Moody with an odd laugh. “Karkaroff fled tonight, when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to wish to meet them…but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his enemies.”

“Karkaroff’s gone? He ran away? But then — he didn’t put my name in the goblet?”

“Harry,” said Arthur warningly at the same time, shifting again to block him from view of the teacher.

“No,” said Moody slowly. “No, he didn’t. It was I who did that.”

Harry heard, but didn’t believe. “No, you didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t do that… you can’t have done…”

“I assure you I did,” said Moody, and his magical eye swung around and fixed upon the door, and Harry knew he was making sure that there was no one outside it. At the same time, Moody drew out his wand and pointed it at Arthur. The man put his hands in his air in the classic surrender sign and Harry felt his heart race.

“No, Dad-” gasped Harry, standing suddenly despite the pain in his leg.

“Don’t move, Harry,” ordered Arthur, not turning to look at him. His father directed the next words at Moody. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Moody’s face cracked open in a wide, manic grin that made Harry’s stomach flop. “Aren’t you a brave little _Muggle_ to try and stand against me?” asked Moody, stretching his arm to push the tip of his wand into Arthur’s throat.

Arthur did not flinch, even as Harry began to beg him in the background to step away.

“Perhaps it is you that is brave to stand against _me_ ,” replied Arthur calmly, causing the wizard to laugh.

“I have been pulling apart little Muggles like you since I was fifteen,” said the Professor sinisterly. “I usually prefer to take my time with them, play around a little. But in this case I will have to be quick.”

Harry cried out when the man’s wand lashed through the air and blood spurted instantly from Arthur’s throat. The man groaned in pain, one hand reaching up to touch the laceration and pulling away again so he could look at the bright red blood on his fingers. Arthur remained standing, stumbling slightly against a desk in the classroom. Harry rushed to try and help him but his dad held his blood-soaked hand in his direction, stopping his movements instantly.

“It’s been a while,” started Arthur, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Harry couldn’t believe it worked at all. “Since anyone has made me bleed this much.”

Arthur reached against to his neck, this time with the sleeve of his light summer jacket. He used the material to wipe away much of the blood on his neck, exposing the slash across his throat. Harry stared at it in fascination, stepping forwarded to look as the skin seemed to knit itself together, only tiny droplets of blood escaping as an angry pink scar appeared to form.

Moody had noticed it too. “What the-”

“Sometimes,” said Arthur, his voice already beginning to sound more normal. “If something seems like it has been too easy, than it was probably a trap.”

He moved before Moody had the chance to, a gun appearing in his clean hand. In one fluid movement, he raised it and pulled the trigger. The explosive sound of the shot caused Harry to stagger, and he noticed blood spring from Moody’s neck in a similar location that Arthur had bled from. The teacher’s body crumpled and Arthur wasted no time, moving over and kicking the wand out of his hand and aiming the gun again at the man’s head. There was no need to that Harry could see after he followed his father over. Moody’s body was convulsing as the blood poured onto the floor.

“Are you ok, Harry?” asked his dad. Harry looked away from the body to realise that Arthur was looking at him in concern. His eyes drifted down to examine his neck where the pinkness of the laceration was fading to white, looking like the scar of a wound that was years old.

He nodded, letting Arthur put his bloody arm around him and pull him in for a hug.

* * *

Harry stood alone at the edge of the black lake, feeling soothed by the sounds and appearance of the gentle waves that rippled across it. He felt a hint of phantom pain in his leg despite the fact that Madame Pomfrey had healed it perfectly. Both Draco and Hermione had been reluctant to leave him alone over the past week, but he had convinced them to let him have some time while they packed the last of their possessions in preparation for the train.

He took a deep breath, speaking his words into the air.

“I want to talk to you. Can you please come here? I know you can.”

The result was instant and the air beside him shifted to alert him to her presence. Harry kept his eyes on the water, not wanting to turn to look at her. He didn’t say anything for several minutes and neither did she.

“I called for you,” said Harry at last. “In the graveyard, after Cedric…I wanted you to come and help me and you didn’t.”

It seemed to take several more minutes for a response to come. “I told you I would not interfere,” said Helena. “No matter what was to happen.”

“You could have saved Cedric and I,” said Harry, anger bursting through his words. “You could have stopped Voldemort from rising.”

“Maybe,” replied Helena simply, not matching his temper. “Maybe not. I cannot say what would have happened now that the opportunity has passed.”

He wheeled around to look at her, feeling the tears prick at his eyes. “Cedric is dead, and you could have saved him.”

“And are you angry at me for not having saved him?” asked Helena. “Or yourself for creating the situation of his death by making poor decisions all those months ago?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” said Harry, tears flowing now. “It’s not right, you knew and I didn’t. You should have helped me.”

“I did warn you, Harry. I will not apologise for what happened or take the blame off your shoulders.”

Harry stepped back as if stunned. “I don’t know who you are anymore, not you or Dad. I thought I did, when I was a kid but the older I get the more I realise I know nothing about you. Who are you? Whose side are you even on?”

Helena smiled but it was not a happy action. Her face contorted into something sly and sinister. “If you have to ask that question, Harry, you really don’t know me at all.”

She turned to him and bowed, fading out of view before her head lifted out of the bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF Arthur is my favourite type... thanks for reading!


	7. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and the secret organisation named after a phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost two months since the last update and oh how the world has changed again! I'm sorry for the wait - I hope the fact that this is just over 15,000 words makes up for the delay. I found this chapter particularly hard to finish and am unsatisfied with it, but unfortunately for all of you I write fanfic to unwind rather than for perfection. So it'll do, donkey. 
> 
> As usual, some chunks taken from 'Order of the Phoenix'. I know nothing, yada yada. Where the last chapter mostly focused on Arthur, this one is very much about Helena. Don't hate me. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has been leaving kudos but especially comments. It makes me so happy to see people engaging with this and enjoying it (or not!). They never fail to put a smile on my face which has been particularly difficult to do recently. I'm a hospital clinician and my country's health service is currently in pieces so I don't know what I'll walk into on shift tomorrow, but I do know the email notification that says 'you've got kudos!' will give me a boost. So thank you! I hope you are safe wherever you are, and if you happen to be in New Zealand, know that I am jealous.

“Hey mate,” said Sirius, addressing Arthur. His eyes slid uncomfortably to Helena. “Hello.”

“I thought you had your own home to go to now, Black,” replied the witch.

Sirius ignored her, focusing on his friend. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

“What about him?” asked Arthur urgently, moving as if to stand. Helena put a steadying hand on his shoulder, forcing him to remain seated.

“He wrote to me,” replied Sirius. “Asking if I would take him home for the summer. Ah, mate, don’t look at me like that. You know I’ll take him in a heartbeat, but I didn’t want you to think this was something I’d orchestrated to keep him away from you.” His eyes flickered back to Helena. “From _either_ of you.”

No one spoke for a minute, the words hanging heavily in the air between them. Arthur made a pained sound suddenly, covering his face with his hand.

“If you want me to tell him no-”

“No,” interrupted Helena. “If Harry wants to go with you, he can.”

Both men stared at her in surprise.

“Hel-” started Arthur, but she didn’t let him finish.

“I might not like you, Sirius Black, but I do at least trust you and so does Harry. He doesn’t currently have the same faith in either of us,” said Helena dismissively. “If Harry wants to go with you, he will on the condition that you encourage him to continue to see Arthur.”

Sirius nodded immediately. “I would ask him to see you too, if you wanted me too,” he returned, surprising himself almost as much as Helena.

“No need,” answered Helena with a smile. “Just don’t let him out of your sight. I’m not sure what this year will bring.”

* * *

Harry returned the hug enthusiastically, leaning his head into Sirius’ shoulder and closing his eyes. His godfathered squeezed him tight before turning him slightly until they embraced side-on. He kept one strong arm wrapped around Harry’s body and gave another reassuring squeeze.

“Hermione got off to her parents alright?” asked Sirius casually, sweeping some of Harry’s messy fringe out of his eyes affectionately.

Harry nodded, opening his eyes and looking between the wizard and his companion uncertainly. “Um, hello,” said Harry weakly, raising a hand in a short wave.

“Wotcher, Harry!” exclaimed the woman, waving back at him with a huge smile on her heart-shaped face.

Harry nodded back and looked at Sirius pointedly.

“Sorry, mate, I forgot myself for a second there,” said Sirius, ruffling his own hair. “This is Tonks, my baby cousin. She volunteered herself to come with me and has been irritating me the entire time we’ve waited on your train.”

The witch continued to smiling brightly, withdrawing her wand from the sleeve of her leather jacket. She pointed it at Harry’s trunk which instantly shrunk. Tonks scooped it off the ground and put it in her pocket.

“He’s only pretending to hate me, he loves me really,” replied Tonks with a wink of her eye which seemed unusually blue.

Harry perked up in interest, allowing Sirius to begin to steer him off the platform. Tonks walked beside them with a chirpy skip in her step, narrowly missing several people who rushed across the station floor.

“You’re cousins? Are you a Black then?” asked Harry curiously, keeping an eye on the woman.

Tonks wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’m a Tonks.”

Sirius laughed at the look of confusion on Harry’s face. “ _Dora_ is a Black, yes, but her mother married a Muggleborn wizard and was disowned by the family at large. So naturally, we’re good friends.”

“You’re related to Draco as well, then,” commented Harry.

Tonks bit her lip. “Our mums are sisters but I’ve never met him. His mother wasn’t very impressed with mine’s life choices. Sirius told me you two were friends, maybe we’ll have another traitor amongst our ranks.”

Harry nodded, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. He usually went out of his way to avoid thinking about Draco’s family and their differences in philosophies. He realised with a start that they had reached the King’s Cross apparition point and glanced up at his godfather.

“Are we apparating to your house, Sirius?”

The man hummed in agreement and gave Tonks a short nod. She waved again at Harry before disappearing on the spot, leaving them alone. Sirius gripped him tighter against his body, pausing before initiating the spell.

“There will be a lot of strong personalities around for the next couple of months,” said Sirius. “I’ll explain when we get to the house, but I just want you to know that if it’s too much, we can just take off. I just need you to tell me, I won’t ever be offended by your opinions.”

Harry stared at him. He was unable to imagine what he was referring to, but he appreciated Sirius’ statement.

“I’ll be ok, Sirius,” said Harry, noticing his lack of conviction. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Always, Potter,” replied Sirius. “Now hold on and don’t puke on my boots.”

* * *

“Have you been up to the attic yet?” asked Arthur, hands in his pockets. Harry shook his head. “Sirius tells me it’s big enough to fit a couple of hippogriffs, but I haven’t seen it myself. Would you like to wander up with me?”

Harry reluctantly agreed, following his dad’s uncertain footsteps as they made their way into the rafters. The attic rooms were colder than any other part of the house Harry had been in and covered in dust that tickled the back of his throat. The floor was filled with boxes of different shapes and sizes, some draped in heavy fabrics that looked liked they’d been undisturbed for decades.

“We probably shouldn’t touch anything,” said Harry. “There is a lot of strange magic in this house.”

Arthur smiled. “I’m aware, that was one of my biggest worries about you coming here, that you might get eaten by a curtain or something.”

The joke fell flat between them, earning an awkward half-smile from Harry.

“The Weasleys will probably be more dangerous than anything in this house,” said Harry. “Sirius said they’ll start arriving in a day or two.”

“You can always come home, you know. If it gets too much with them being here,” said Arthur.

Harry purposefully looked at the ceiling, noticing the huge cobwebs that crisscrossed it. “I don’t want to go home right now,” he said simply. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur hesitated, sounding neither angry nor sad when he finally responded. “We can talk about it, if you like. Any question you ask me, I’ll answer it truthfully.”

“I believe you,” said Harry with a small smile. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to ask you anything yet.”

* * *

Helena raised her fist to knock but the door swung open before her hand collided with the wood. Behind it stood Molly Weasley, expression stern and hands resting on her hips. Helena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She did not wait for the woman to invite her in, brushing past her to enter the house. Mrs Weasley muttered grumpily behind her about poor manners as she spelled the door shut again. Helena ignored her in favour of visually exploring the hallway, looking curiously at the strange antiquated decoration of the house.

“Where is the meeting taking place?” she asked, head craned to gaze up at the severed elf heads lining the higher walls.

“The meeting is for Order members only,” replied Mrs Weasley. “We do not accept drop ins.”

Helena returned her attention the other witch, laughing softly. “I assure you I am not a drop in. I am merely accepting the invitation your master sent me many months ago.”

Mrs Weasley opened and closed her mouth several times as if uncertain on how to reply. “Through to the kitchen, then,” she said at last, no heat left in her words. “In the basement, there’s a staircase at the end of the hall.”

Helena bowed her head in thanks and followed the directions. She descended the stairs slowly, listening to the voices echoing up the staircase. She paused suddenly when something caught her focus, a tiny wriggling wire hanging down along the wall. She grabbed onto the end and tugged and tugged until eventually she held the entire wire. She examined it closely for a couple seconds before tucking it into the pocket of her jacket.

The kitchen door was partly open. Helena paused for a second to gather herself before she pushed it fully open and stepped into the room. The conversation died as she did so, the occupants turning to stare at her. Sirius stood up at the head of the table, looking unsure of himself. Beside him, Helena spotted Remus and Mr Weasley who sent her a puzzled smile. She did not know the others gathered, taking in each of the different wizards and witches with little interest.

Helena seated herself at the opposite end of the large table, a direct line from Sirius. He sat down again, eyes on hers.

“You’re joining us for the meeting,” said Sirius.

“Clearly,” said Helena, placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin on it. One of the gathered witches, a young woman with bright pink hair, snorted.

“Well, you are welcome then,” replied Sirius, toasting her suddenly with the mug in his hand.

Helena’s eyes widened marginally. “Thank you, Sirius,” said Helena. She opened her mouth to speak again but her voice was drowned out by the slam of the kitchen door as it admitted another. She watched as Severus Snape entered the room with a dramatic sweep, hesitating slightly to assess the occupants of the room. He said nothing as he landed on the chair beside Helena’s.

“Your presence is unexpected, Mrs Fay,” said Snape underneath his breath as the conversation around them picked back up.

“A pleasure still, no doubt,” said Helena quietly, keeping her eyes on Sirius as he laughed and joked with those around him.

“No one’s presence gives me pleasure. You should not take it personally.”

Helena looked at him, chuckling. “That might be true but I enjoy your company so I do not really care what you think.”

Snape huffed out a breath. “You ought to be more careful.”

“Why is that?”

“You have caught the attention of some…questionable characters,” replied Snape carefully.

Helena turned her head until they gazed into each other’s eyes, his obviously searching hers for a reaction. “I fail to see any issue with that. Sounds like I’ve done something right,” said Helena dismissively.

“This is not something to be proud of,” warned Snape. “This is not the kind of attention you want.”

“There’s no such thing as bad attention,” said Helena with a smirk. “I look forward to seeing what they try.”

* * *

“ _Who_ is that?”

The hushed voice of Ron captured Harry’s focus. He set down the book he was reading and climbed out of his seat, stumbling out of the room almost sleepily. Ron was standing on the landing outside his room, head ducked over the banister of the stairs. He was sandwiched by his twin brothers who were similarly positioned.

“Looks like she’s with Snape, doesn’t it?” said Fred. Harry felt a glimmer of pride at his newfound ability to tell the twins apart.

“Maybe she’s blind,” said George. “Or _confunded_.”

Harry approached them from behind, pushing up beside Fred. “What are you looking at?”

“Another meeting finished,” George told him. “Ickle Ron has found himself a new soul mate despite the past rejection from the Beauxbatons students.”

Ron blushed immediately, waving a rude finger at his brother. “Shut up.”

George shoved him back. “Then pick your chin off the floor. No woman is gonna look at your ugly mug.”

Ron muttered angrily while Harry leaned over the railing himself, spotting a few of the adults milling around in the hallway and chatting. Their Professor stood close to the front door, inaudibly speaking with a blonde lady dressed in Muggle fashion. She did not need to turn around for Harry to recognise her, despite the different shade of dye in her hair. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, examining her clothes with a detached sort of interest. She was laughing at something Snape said which struck Harry as odd. He’d never considered the teacher to be funny before.

“What is he saying to her?” complained Ron. None of the boys answered him, all too busy watching the scene below them.

Harry’s eyes must have burned into her back because she turned suddenly, her gaze going immediately to where they stood. She bowed with a wink before returning her attention to Snape. The pair left the house a few seconds later, the wizard holding the door open for her respectfully.

“Did she just _bow_ at us?” asked Ron, sounding stunned.

“Don’t wet yourself there, Ronnie,” said Fred. “I’m already fed up cleaning, don’t add to the mess.”

“That’s Helena,” said Harry, as if it was enough of an explanation. “You met her before, Weasley. The night we went into the Chamber.”

“ _That’s_ your mother?” questioned Ron incredulously. “I was clearly too traumatised to pay attention that night.”

“That’s the one you’re not talking to, then,” said George.

“When you were referring to your mother,” said Fred, “I was expecting someone more…” 

“Like our mother,” finished George.

Harry shook his head with a smile. “I like your mother, she’s nice.”

“You _would_ say that,” said Ron darkly, “She treats you like a prince compared to the rest of us.”

“Well at least you know what to expect with Mrs Weasley,” said Harry, looking back to the place where he had spotted Helena.

* * *

“Hello?” Harry said.

There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing, and opened the drawing-room door.

Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.

All the air seemed to vanish from Harry’s lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold — Ron dead, no, it couldn’t be —

But wait a moment, it couldn’t be — Ron was downstairs —

“Mrs Weasley?” Harry croaked.

“R-r-riddikulus!’’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron’s body.

_Crack._ Ron’s body turned into Bill’s, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever.

R-riddikulus!” she sobbed again.

_Crack._ Mr Weasley’s body replaced Bill’s, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face.

“No!” Mrs Weasley moaned. “No . . . riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!”

_Crack._ Dead twins. _Crack._ Dead Percy. _Crack._ Dead Harry…

“Mrs Weasley, just get out of here!” shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. “Let someone else —”

“Harry?”

Arthur appeared in the doorway suddenly, jolting to a stop as his eyes darted between the living Harry and the dead one on the ground. “Harry?” he repeated uncertainly.

“It’s a _boggart_ ,” said Harry quickly, rushing to explain to his father. “It takes the shape of the thing you fear the most to try and scare you. It’s not real!”

Arthur nodded grimly and approached the woman slowly. “Mrs Weasley,” said Arthur gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The woman continued to sob as he manoeuvred his body to block the boggart from view. “It’s just a trick.”

There was another _crack_. Harry watched as his own body morphed and changed, standing up from the ground and becoming the body of a young man. Harry wondered briefly if it was supposed to be him considering they matched in their skin tones and messy hair colour, but the man was tall and willowy in a way Harry never thought he would be. The man was smiling nicely at Arthur’s back, his hands clasped together in front of his body.

“ _Dad_ ,” said Harry. Arthur took the hint and turned around. It was clear the moment he caught sight of the man – his face turned grey and he wobbled slightly where his hand was still clutching onto Mrs Weasley.

“I don’t know what you are supposed to be,” said Arthur, his voice unsteady, unlike Harry had ever heard it before.

The boggart grinned back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. You know exactly what I’m supposed to be.”

The man changed in a flicker, hands moving to clutch at his stomach where blood spurted out. He coughed, a horrible hacking sound that brought blood to his lips. It dribbled down his chin, making Mrs Weasley gasp and sob louder. Harry stepped back in shock and let out a cry.

“You did this to me, Arthur,” said the boggart, the words forced out as he choked on the blood.

“You’re not real,” replied Arthur. He sounded determined but Harry noticed from his facial expression that he was upset. “Stop it.”

“You did this to me, you’re the reason I’m dead,” continued the man-boggart, taking a step towards them. “You killed me really, you prat. I’ll never forgive you for it.”

“ _Stop it,”_ said Arthur again, moving himself and Molly away as the thing approached them.

“What’s going on?”

The boggart turned its head towards the door as Remus came running into the room, followed closely by Sirius. Their gazes darted from the bleeding man to Arthur and Mrs Weasley, still crying although now hovering on his shoulder. Pulling out his wand, Remus said _“Riddikulus!”_ very firmly and clearly.

The strange man vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had stood. Remus waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Oh — oh — oh!” gulped Mrs Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.

“Molly,” said Remus bleakly, walking over to her, “Molly, don’t . . .”

Mrs Weasley left Arthur and attached herself to Remus, who gently guided her into the hallway with comforting words. They left Harry standing in the room staring in surprise at his father, who was breathing raggedly, while Sirius watched them both.

“There’s a wizarding saying about having corpses hidden in your pantry,” said Sirius, folding his arms as he leaned against the door frame.

Arthur ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Muggles says something similar.” He glanced at Harry. “I’m sorry if that scared you.”

Sirius sent Harry a knowing look. “He looks in better shape than you, mate. I think we need a drink.”

It took a while for the three of them to find themselves seated in front of the roaring fire, a whiskey in both Sirius and Arthur’s hands and a butterbeer in Harry’s. The Weasley boys had been cleared from the kitchen with a stern word from their mother, who had calmed down enough to return to giving orders. Harry was grateful for the privacy as he stared into the flames as they licked at the coal Sirius had thrown into the hearth.

“That man that the boggart turned into,” said Harry, “Did you murder him?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Sirius, who was sitting inbetween them as an unofficial barrier between father and son.

“No,” said Arthur, although it took a long time for him to answer. “Murder would imply that I had the intention of killing him. I did not.”

There was a strange emptiness in his father’s voice, forcing Harry to look at him. He recognised the lines of grief on his face, similar to those he had seen on his own in the days after Cedric had been killed.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

“That…man that the thing became, he was my best friend once, when I was almost as young as you. He was a wizard with exceptional magic, although I did not know it for most of our friendship.”

Arthur laughed suddenly. “You think I am stupid now with regard to magic, you have no idea what I was like before. He got me out of many messes and in the end, when someone wounded me bad enough to kill me, he performed a spell that exchanged my life for his own. He took my wounds onto himself, and died in my arms from the blood loss.”

Harry stared at him in horror, noticing that Sirius too was looking stunned at his father. “Dad, I-”

“I would like to say it has been many years so I am over it,” continued Arthur, “but truthfully I’m not. The magic he blessed me with still lives in my body. You glimpsed some of it, Harry, that night with Crouch when it healed me.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” muttered Sirius in disbelief, which sent Arthur inexplicably into a fit of laughter. He continued to laugh, even as tears ran down his cheeks.

* * *

They were all dropped off together for convenience by the odd coupling of Sirius and Mrs Weasley. The older witch kissed each of her son’s heads despite their complaints before giving Harry the same treatment. Harry met Sirius’ gaze with a look of concern. His godfather winked at him.

“Try to stay out of trouble this year, Harry dear,” said Mrs Weasley before she pushed him in the direction of the train. Harry nodded back, giving one last wave to Sirius before he joined the other Weasleys in eying the train for a chance to get on amidst the hustle and bustle of the other students. Ron watched him out of the corner of his eye.

“I know we’ve been living together for several weeks now,” started the teenager. “But we’re not friends. I’m not sitting with you on the train, mate.”

Harry choked out a laugh in disbelief. “Yeah, thanks, _mate_. I have my own friends, I was never planning on sitting with you, don’t worry yourself about it.”

Fred smacked Ron across the back of the head, while George held a fist out to Harry. He touched his own fist against it.

“Don’t be a stranger, Potter,” said Fred.

“You’re not bad for a Slytherin,” said George, and both twins disappeared into the train.

Harry smiled, leaving Ron behind without a second thought. He grabbed hold of one of the railings and pulled himself onto the train, feeling his trunk jostle where it was stuffed into his pocket in miniature form. He moved down the corridors of the train, poking his head into each compartment as he searched for his friends. He nodded and waved in greeting at some of the other kids he passed, feeling a stab of guilt whenever he passed a scared looking first-year.

He was distracted, looking ahead in the direction of a few _bangs_ he guessed came from the Weasleys when suddenly he was dragged into a carriage by the collar of his jumper. Harry yelped, struggling at first but relaxing when he heard a familiar voice laughing. He spun around to see both Hermione and Draco looking expectantly at him, alone in a carriage.

“Hi,” said Harry, flinging himself at both of them. They caught him in a hug, one taking each of his arms.

“You took so long to get on, I thought you were going to miss the train,” said Draco, releasing him first and plopping down on one of the seats. “Hermione’s already been able to fill me in on most of your summer letters.”

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. “It’s not like I couldn’t tell him any more than the basics, your letters have been very sketchy recently.”

Harry sat down and rubbed the back of his neck out of habit. “I was told to keep my letters vague, and I didn’t bother sending anything to you, Draco,” he said apologetically. His friend waved dismissively. “I’m sure you’ve both seen _The Prophet.”_

The other teenagers nodded. The action ruffled Draco’s robes enough for something shiny to catch Harry’s attention. He leant forward and asked with a snort, “Is that a Prefect badge?”

Draco quickly removed the badge threw it at his head. Harry ducked, hearing the thud as the chunk of metal hit the compartment wall where his head had been. He twisted in his seat, picking it up between two fingers and inspecting it closely.

“It looks a bit shinier than Weasley’s did,” said Harry thoughtfully. “Have you been shining it with pride every night since you got it?”

Hermione squealed and dived out of way of Draco, who had launched himself at Harry. The boys tussled on the seat for a minute despite Hermione’s half-hearted reprimands. A sudden jolt of the train sent both teenagers to the floor of the carriage, limbs tangled together. Neither wizard bothered to try and stand for a few moments, each panting for air where they lay on the ground.

“I don’t know why I associate with you idiots,” said Hermione with a mock sniff. Harry cracked an eye open and saw that she was smiling.

“Because you love us, ‘Mione,” said Harry back cheekily, pulling a face. His friend began to laugh. Harry rolled over onto his knees and pushed himself up with minor difficulty. Once standing, he held a hand out to Draco who flung a dramatic hand across his face.

“Leave me here for a while,” said Draco. “I might just die from the assault.”

Harry shook his head with a laugh and sat back down beside Hermione. “You two being Prefects must make it physically impossible for me to get in trouble this year.”

Hermione scoffed. “You wish, Harry, and undoubtedly Professor McGonagall chose me knowing that I would have no qualms giving my _friends_ punishments for breaking the rules.”

“She definitely didn’t choose Weasley for the same reason, then,” said Harry, chuckling. “He was bragging about it at dinner.”

“I can’t believe she chose Ronald,” replied Hermione with a scowl. “Neville would have been a better choice.”

“Oh, come on, now,” said Draco, still on the floor. “At least Weasley has a spine. Longbottom is afraid of his own shadow.”

“Still would have been better than Ronald,” muttered Hermione.

“How was living with the Weasels anyway, Harry?” asked Draco, resting his hands behind his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t dye your hair orange in tribute to becoming one of the family.”

Harry grinned, nudging at Draco with his foot playfully. “It was mostly fine. Ron was a bit of a moan, Ginny mostly avoided me. The twins are pretty cool, I loaned them a bit of money to help set up their business.”

“Oh, Harry, you didn’t!” moaned Hermione, pinching him. “Those things they make are disastrous, you shouldn’t encourage them.”

Draco perked up with interest. He rolled over and rested his chin on his hands, elbows on the ground. “What things do they make?”

Harry launched into a description of the Weasley’s latest product developments, settling into his seat comfortably, Hermione’s body warm and reassuring where she pressed into his side.

* * *

Harry watched as Professor Umbridge sat down with a large smile. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” he said, bowing to her. “Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . .”

“ _Illuminating_ ,” murmured Draco beside him.

“Sounded like a load of waffle to me,” said Harry, scratching absently at the wooden table.

Draco swore under his breath. “Sometimes you can be so dense. I’ll have to meet Hermione later to hear her analysis.”

“Analysis of what? She took loads of time saying nothing, like a politician.”

“Like a _politician_ , exactly, Harry,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. “You are going to have to work on your diplomacy skills if you want to stay out of detention this year.”

“Why do you say that?”

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Harry rushed to stand, almost tripping over the bench as he did so. Draco gave him an unimpressed look.

“Because the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts,” said Draco. “ _Obviously._ ”

* * *

“Twenty minutes,” said Draco, pinching his nose as if in pain. “You couldn’t last twenty minutes without getting into a fight with her.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” argued Harry, going bright red. “She was talking shit, she was calling me a liar!”

“You’re supposed to be a Slytherin, Harry, not a Gryffindor! Sometimes when people say crap you don’t like, you just have to listen to it until you find a way to make them pay.”

* * *

Snape accepted the mug of coffee from her with a nod, inhaling the scent with a pleased expression. He took a sip then cradled the cup between his cold hands.

“Have you heard from your son?”

Helena’s face was hidden behind her own cup. “Harry doesn’t write to either of us anymore. Sirius showed me his last letter and it was vague, some dislike evident for your new colleague.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully, pulling a biscuit off the plate between them. “He has had his first detention of the year.”

“Already?”

“Yes, he created quite a stir in the first of Professor Umbridge’s classes, so she made him write lines with a blood quill.”

Helena blinked. “Are they not illegal by now?”

“Naturally. I have informed both the Headmaster and the Ministry, however the latter has apparently given Ms Umbridge whatever powers she sees fit to combat _the problem_ at Hogwarts.”

Helena shook her head in disbelief. “There is something insidious about her chosen torture method. I would prefer to be hung from the toes in the dungeons then to cut into myself over and over. How is his hand?”

“Healed, before I witnessed the damage. Mr Malfoy gifted him a substantial quantity of his own healing creams, I believe, and was the one to tell me what had happened.”

“He is a sweet and clever boy, in spite of his upbringing,” said Helena. “Could you tell me what he used? I would like to replace it.”

* * *

“Morning,” said Harry brightly to Hermione as they met outside the library.

“Why are you so happy?” asked the girl suspiciously, hefting her bag up on her shoulder.

“Em…Quidditch later,” replied Harry, unable to hide his huge grin.

He was unable to see Draco roll his eyes behind him. “Cho Chang spoke two whole sentences to him in the owlery,” said Draco snidely. He dodged the punch that came flying at him with ease. “He’s hoping to explore her _Quidditch skills_ further.”

* * *

“A secret Defence Against the Dark Arts group,” said Arthur, obviously amused. Beside him, Sirius grinned.

“Well on _no_ account whatsoever are any of my boys to take part in such a thing,” started Molly Weasley, reddening as she spoke. “An illegal secret Defence Against the Dark Arts group! They’ll be expelled for sure! There will be plenty of time for them to learn to defend themselves and they are _far_ too young to be worrying about that right now. I know I can’t speak with any authority for Harry, gentlemen, but I would _urge_ you not to encourage him to participate.”

Sirius rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, confident the witch could not see him from where she stood. Arthur struggled with a smile.

“I don’t really see the harm if I’m honest, Molly,” said Arthur with a shrug. “I will always support people learning to defend themselves, no matter what age they are.”

Molly clucked in frustration, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t like the idea of those boys fighting. They are only boys, after all. They should be concerned with Potions’ essays and finding girlfriends, not planning for a war.”

“We were all only boys, the last time around,” pointed out Sirius.

“And look how well that turned out,” answered Molly pointedly with another sigh.

* * *

“I think I know a place where we can meet,” whispered Draco as Harry shovelled breakfast into his mouth. “Have you ever been in the Room of Lost Things?”

“The _what?_ ”

* * *

“What happened to you?” asked Draco, a watchful expression on his face.

Harry didn’t quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands.

“Is it Cho?” she asked in a businesslike way. “Did she corner you after the meeting?”

Numbly surprised, Harry nodded.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” said Draco with a scoff.

“Did you kiss?” asked Hermione briskly.

Harry looked from Draco’s expression of disgust to Hermione’s slight frown and nodded. Draco shook his head, cursing underneath his breath.

“How was it?” questioned Hermione, unable to help herself.

“Wet,” answered Harry truthfully, sending Draco into a fit of sniggering. “She was crying,” said Harry in a pathetic defence of himself.

“Do you make all girls cry when you kiss them?” asked Draco, sneering. “Oh, that’s right, this one was the first so the answer is _yes_.”

“Hey,” protested Harry weakly. “At least _I’ve_ kissed a girl.”

“I have already kissed a girl,” said Draco, waving his hand dismissively. “You were the only one not to get a kiss from your Yule ball date last year.”

Harry eyes darted between his friends, noticing how Hermione blushed instantly. “Neither of you told me!” he accused.

“And neither of our dates cried,” teased Draco, squirming away from Hermione as she poked him. “Are you really that bad at kissing?”

“Dunno,” said Harry, who hadn’t considered this and immediately felt rather worried. “Maybe I am.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

“How would you know?” asked Draco. “Unless you’ve tried kissing him and didn’t tell me about it.”

The witch looked to the roof in frustration and continued with her writing.

“Maybe you should ask my cousin for advice over the Christmas break,” said Draco. “My mother said he spent most of his time at Hogwarts trying to sneak out of different girls’ beds. Though on second thoughts, with behaviour like that he probably made most of them cry too.”

* * *

“Madame Malfoy will see Miss in the parlour,” said the elf, bowing her head with respect. “If Miss will follow Seeley, she will take you to the Madame.”

Helena smiled and followed the little creature, shortening her natural stride to ensure she did not overtake the elf. The slow pace allowed her to look around as they walked throughout the Manor. She took in the high ceilings, the sparse yet expensive decorations, the old wooden structures and lush carpets and thought about the history of the house. Helena paid little attention to the house elf, unafraid of losing her guide. She knew that courtesy meant Seeley would not leave her, but she also knew that she could find her way to the Parlour without help. Her memory was excellent and she supposed families such as the Malfoys did not make major changes to their homes over the centuries.

“What are you doing here?”

She was startled out of her thoughts by the voice behind her. She turned to see Draco Malfoy standing several metres away in a doorway they had passed. He was frowning, concern evident on his face. She did not try to see into his mind because she did not have to: his surface thoughts of fear were radiating powerfully outwards.

In front of her, Seeley disappeared with a soft _pop_.

“Please, do not be rude, darling,” came the voice of Narcissa Malfoy, again from behind. Helena swivelled her feet so that she could see both mother and son. The Malfoy matriarch was dressed impeccably as she had expected in rich red robes that were too grand for a house meeting. She smiled invitingly and curtsied politely at Helena. “You must forgive my boy. He seems to leave some of his manners in Hogwarts each time he returns from there.”

Helena noticed that Draco’s expressions or feelings of panic had not eased on the arrival of his mother. “I have experienced that phenomenon myself,” replied Helena, keeping her tone pleasant.

Narcissa laughed charmingly. “Please come along to the parlour, Madame Fay. A friend has sent the most delightful pastries from Paris and I would have you try one.”

Helena allowed the other woman to link her arm and gently guide her the last few feet into the parlour. Inside the room, Narcissa released her hold and waved her in the direction of two pleasant looking armchairs beneath the bay window as she closed the door. Helena walked towards the furniture, amused at the table and set up for afternoon tea resting between each seat. She sat down purposefully in the chair she guessed to be Narcissa’s own if she judged the personal touches added to it correctly. She said nothing when she noticed the irritated twitch of the witch’s face as she sat down opposite Helena.

“I am grateful to you for agreeing to visit,” said Narcissa, beginning the ritual of pouring tea for both of them. Helena watched the steam curl in the air as it rose from the teacups.

“It is my pleasure,” answered Helena, nodding her head respectfully. “It is a privilege for me to see such a beautiful home.”

Narcissa placed a cup of steaming tea on the saucer in front of her. “Your words are very kind.”

“This house, in particular,” started Helena, as she added three spoons of sugar to her drink, “reminds me of one I was in many years ago, as a younger woman.”

Narcissa declined the sugar bowl when she was offered it. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” said Helena, stirring in milk. “I was sleeping with the owner of the property although neither his wife nor his mother approved of it.”

Narcissa’s face changed so abruptly Helena only just caught the flicker of disgust. “I see.”

“The things you do when you are young,” said Helena, sipping her tea with amusement.

“Indeed,” returned Narcissa primly and silence fell between the women as they drank and ate daintily from the treats in front of them.

“As pleasant as this is,” said Helena when she was halfway through her second cup. “I think perhaps you should confess as to why you have invited me here today.”

“Forgive me, it did not seem polite to begin asking for favours without giving anything in return, even if it is just tea.”

Helena’s eyes bored into her for only a few seconds before Narcissa flinched away. “And what kind of favour could you ask of me?”

The witch glanced down at her cup, running a finger around the rim over and over again. “As I said in my letter to you, it is about Draco. I am always worried about him, like any mother would be. I would do anything to secure his safety.”

“Which, of course, would include poisoning me.”

Narcissa glanced up in shock, panic showing in her face for the first time. Helena met her bewildered stare and blinked calmly back.

“You must have thought me very stupid to believe that I would not realise,” said Helena, taking another sip from her cup. “I knew from the moment I got your letter that you were trying to trap me.”

“Then why did you come?” asked Narcissa, her voice cold and hard for the first time.

“Because a tiny part of me wanted to believe that you really were a mother trying to do the right thing for your son. That you knew you were on the wrong side of this and that you knew I could help him. I would have sworn an oath to you, Narcissa, but again you chose the wrong side. What kind of fate are you committing your child to?”

The other woman rose to her feet suddenly, rattling the table as she did so. “ _Stop_ ,” said Narcissa, heaving in a breath.

Helena grinned wickedly back at her. “Are you going to get this over with or not?”

Narcissa withdrew her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at her. “This _is_ the best thing for Draco,” she insisted, muttering a curse under her breath.

Helena gasped suddenly, arms clutching at her throat as her airway closed off.

* * *

Helena woke with a gasp, inhaling deeply, the air sounding as if it rattled around her chest as it filled her lungs. Her body ached all over but there was searing pain on her left side. She realised she was lying on the floor from the horrific chill the cold tiles were sending through her body. She attempted to roll onto her side but was snapped back into her flat position by a tug on her right side. She opened her eyes and craned her head to see magical manacles holding her right wrist in place. She rubbed her fingers on the hand together, trying to spark some magic to reassure herself. Nothing happened.

She turned her head to look at her left side, to see the source of her pain. A sick feeling rolled through her and made her stomach lurch when she saw her left arm. There was a silver knife stuck in it, exposing the artery at her radial pulse point. Blood spurted out of it and ran down the length of her arm. The fluid was being caught in a large silver bowl underneath the limb. She noticed it was already a quarter full.

“We had to leave the knife in the wound. When we took it out, your skin began to knit itself together to stop the bleeding.”

Helena closed her eyes. She did not have to turn and look to know who was speaking to her. She recognised the voice from the dreams that were not her own that had pierced her subconscious.

Something hit her foot and she jolted with a hiss of pain, opening her eyes. They looked straight into the red eyes of Voldemort, who matched the descriptions she had heard Harry give from the graveyard.

“I have been most eager to see you wake,” said Voldemort, almost politely. Helena snorted silently to herself, diverting her gaze from his and looking at a point above his head. She realised she had not been moved from the parlour but the ceiling was much darker now, as if many hours had passed from the early afternoon.

“While you have been sleeping,” continued Voldemort. “I have tried just about every spell to maim and kill a human, and some for magical creatures also.”

Helena winced, imagining the effects of some of those spells. Someone kicked at her again and her face scrunched up in pain.

“You have survived every one of them,” said Voldemort thoughtfully. “I have watched your body grow and repair itself, no matter what I do to it.”

Helena’s eyes drifted back to him, seeing the wand he pointed at her head now.

“For decades I have searched for the key to immortal being,” said Voldemort in a whisper. “And here you are, having stumbled into my path.”

“Not willingly,” coughed out Helena, noticing the blood in her mouth for the first time. She received another kick.

Voldemort pointed his wand at the bowl beneath her arm, levitating it until he caught it in his free hand. She looked down at her limb again and realised he had left the knife where it was, so blood continued to spill out of the wound.

“The answer must lie in the blood,” said Voldemort, gazing into the bowl. “Magic always seems to come back to blood. The gift is in it.”

He raised the bowl to his lips as if to drink from it. Helena began to laugh uncontrollably, the sound hoarse and painful as her body complained at the effort. Voldemort paused and glared down at her.

“What?”

“There is no gift in my blood,” said Helena hoarsely, her voice tired and pained. “I was not gifted anything. I am cursed.”

A whisper ran throughout the room and for the first time, Helena realised that she was not alone with the dark lord. She could not see anyone else from where she lay but suddenly she knew there were others watching.

“What do you mean by _cursed_?” asked Voldemort quietly, his tone growing dangerous.

Helena huffed out another weak laugh. “Do you think it is a blessing that I can survive all of the pain you put me through? I am _cursed_ and there is no way to relieve me of it. Believe me I have tried. The curse is not in my blood, it is on my soul. I cannot transfer it to any other being, wilfully or not. You cannot take it from me.”

Voldemort’s eyes bored into hers and she held the gaze, confident in her ability to keep him out of her head even if she was half dead on the floor. Without looking away from her, he waved a hand to summon one of the watchers to his side. Helena’s eyes shifted to the short and stumpy man who appeared beside him, his eyes nervously flickering between her and his master.

“Pettigrew,” said Voldemort, offering the bowl of blood to his servant. “Taste it.”

The man shifted uneasily on his feet. “M-master, I could _not-_ ”

“A reward for you as my most faithful servant.”

The tone was final and Pettigrew knew it as well as Helena did. He raised the rim of the bowl to his lips and wet his lips on the fluid. He pulled it away instantly, disgusted by the feeling of the blood, sticky and warm on his mouth. Helena’s eyes focused on it, waiting. Voldemort seemed to notice and watched him too.

“W-well,” said Pettigrew, stumbling backwards yet still holding the bowl. “I don’t-don’t feel any different.”

He dropped a moment later, crashing to the floor and his head walloping off the tiles and seeping its own blood. The bowl he had held flew out of his hands and spilled away from him.

“He’s dead, my lord,” confirmed someone else that Helena could not see. Voldemort’s eyes returned to her.

“I did tell you,” said Helena.

He raised his wand at her again and her world went dark.

* * *

Arthur awoke with a gasp, ripping the sheets off his lower body as he struggled for air. He leapt from his bed, dragging a coat on over his bare torso and pulling trousers on carelessly. He ran from his bedroom to the living room as fast as he could, threw floo powder into the dying embers of a fire and rattled the address off from memory. He stepped into the grate, wincing as a stray flame licked at his bare foot.

“Kreacher,” called Arthur on arrival.

The house elf appeared with a crack, wide awake despite the hour. “What does the blood traitor’s Muggle want?”

Arthur ignored the insult with a shake of his head. “Wake Sirius and tell him to meet me in Harry’s room.”

Kreacher bowed before departing with a second, louder crack. Arthur made his way out of the drawing room, stumbling his way to Harry’s room. He did not pause to knock, opening the door with relief on finding it unlocked. He moved towards where he knew the bed was, seeing only the vague outline of his son in the dark.

Arthur dropped to his knees beside the mattress, reaching a hand forward to grasp the young wizard’s shoulder. Harry was trembling and muttering to himself, sweat beading on his forehead.

“What is it?” asked Sirius, who came running into the room, a flood of light accompanying him.

“Harry’s dreaming again,” replied Arthur, using both of his hands now to shake the boy. “He was giving me nightmares. I didn’t think he’d manage to do that with me so far away.”

Sirius joined him at the edge of the bed, calling Harry’s name. He twitched and roused on the fourth try.

“Dad?” whispered Harry roughly. “Dad, I need to go.”

“Go where, Harry,” asked Arthur gently. “It’s the middle of the night; you don’t have to go anywhere.”

Tears suddenly filled Harry’s eyes. “I was dreaming, I saw…I saw…”

“What is it, Harry?” asked Sirius.

The boy lurched forward suddenly and vomited, drenching his duvet. Arthur reared back, grateful when Sirius waved his wand over the mess and it disappeared. Arthur ran a hand through Harry’s hair like he had when he was a little kid, trying to calm him.

“Voldemort,” gasped Harry. “He has Helena, at Draco’s house. He’s…he’s hurting her.”

Both Arthur and Sirius reared back, processing the news.

“Mate, it was a dream, let’s think about this,” said Sirius.

“It wasn’t a dream,” retorted Harry, climbing out of the bed and beginning to circulate the room. His body was still trembling. “It was real. Voldemort was torturing her. My mind couldn’t make that up.”

“Harry…” started Sirius, looking expectantly at Arthur who stood frozen.

“We have to go and get her,” insisted Harry, pacing frantically. He shook off Sirius’ hands as he attempted to hold him still.

“ _No_ ,” said Arthur, his tone stopping the teenager’s movement.

“What do you mean, _no_? You didn’t see her, Dad, he’s killing her,” moaned Harry, close to tears.

“The last thing Helena will want is for any of us to go storming in to save her,” said Arthur calmly, although his face was pale.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants!” shouted Harry. “She doesn’t get a choice in this, we have the power to help her, I can’t sit around waiting while she is getting tortured. You can’t expect me to.”

“I expect you to trust me,” said Arthur, “as your father and as Helena’s husband. It is my responsibility to consider what is best for _both_ of you, and waiting this out is what is best. Please, Harry, I need you to trust me on this.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air and the door exploded open, forced by an unintentional burst of magic. Arthur did not flinch and made no move to follow as the wizard stormed out of the room, feet landing heavily on the carpeted floor as he fled the room. Arthur sighed deeply, turning to face Sirius who looked ill.

“He cannot leave this house,” said Arthur firmly. “We cannot allow him to attempt some half-baked rescue mission.”

“He won’t leave,” replied Sirius hoarsely. “The wards will stop him if he tries. It’s always been that way, but I haven’t told him.”

Arthur nodded with satisfaction.

“I _am_ sorry, mate?” asked Sirius. “I know we’ve never got on, but seeing her in the hands of Voldemort was the last thing I would wish on anyone.”

“Helena will be fine,” said Arthur determinedly. “He’s not the first dark wizard she’s encountered.”

“I hope for Harry’s sake that that’s true,” said Sirius. “He was more shaken than I expected.”

Arthur frowned at him. “No matter how they’ve been acting towards each other recently, Helena is Harry’s mother, Sirius. She might not have given birth to him, he might not call her _mum_ , he might not like what she does or says, but he has known no other mother. I don’t mean that as an insult to your friend, it is just fact. He would not be human if he wasn’t upset by this news.”

* * *

She did not know what time or day it was. She was standing in a dark corridor that was lit at equal intervals with sconces that burned bright orange. She could not see an end to the hallway although she knew logically that there must be one. Helena began to walk forwards, glancing down in surprise when she felt the movement of skirts around her legs. She saw the heavy fabric of the dark blue dress lining her arms to her wrists and hitting the floor past the point of her ankles. The skirt swished around her as she walked, making sounds as the heels of her shoes clipped against the stone.

She reached the end of the corridor and stared at the grey wall ahead of her which was completely empty. She knew where she was all of a sudden, recognition dawning on her.

“Where are we?”

She looked to her left to see Severus Snape, looking his customary self in his black robes despite her own fancy dress. His face was expressionless but his arms were crossed. She thought it betrayed his discomfort.

“Do you not recognise this place?”

She watched as he looked about him, taking in the empty walls.

“It is Hogwarts,” guessed Snape, “without any of the portraits or tapestries or frustrating children.”

Helena smiled at him, leaning forward to touch the blank wall ahead of them. “Yes. This is a corner on the seventh floor.”

She continued to run her hands all over the stonework of the wall, enjoying the feeling of the grooves beneath her fingers.

“Why is the seventh floor of Hogwarts where your brain leads you?”

“Because all of my secrets are on this floor,” said Helena. “Why are _you_ in my brain, Professor?”

“You are still under the Dark Lord’s capture,” answered Snape, continuing to watch her. “He learned the lesson of Pettigrew and thus sent his most competent _Legilimens_ in his place to gain your secrets.”

She turned away from her exploration of the wall and looked back at him. “Because you are expendable where he is not.”

“Obviously.”

“Will he kill you when you emerge, when he realises that you learned nothing at all from my mind?”

Snape’s lips twitched. “Perhaps.”

“Because you won’t, learn anything, that is. No matter what state my physical body is in, my brain will always defend itself. I have had years of practice. This place is a maze worse than the real Hogwarts: you cannot find your way out unless I show you the way.”

Snape stared at her blankly. “Why haven’t you apparated away from Malfoy Manor yet?”

“I cannot. There are anti-apparition wards in place.”

“As there are in Hogwarts and that did not stop you.”

Helena smiled secretively at him. “Hogwarts is a special place, the same rules do not apply here.”

She pushed back from the wall, spinning and beginning to move away down another corridor. Snape jogged to catch up with her.

“How come you have not died?” asked Snape, panting as he followed her. She moved quickly through the hallways, all of them blank stone like the ones they had seen before.

“I told him, you must have heard me,” said Helena as she led him down stairs, through passages and small rooms he did not recognise. “I was cursed. I cannot help it, although I have tried.”

“Cursed by whom?”

She stopped moving abruptly and Snape froze beside her a second later. They were standing in a version of the Slytherin Common Room of Hogwarts, easily identifiable from the statue of the founder that filled a far corner of the room, although they had not walked far enough to reach it in reality. Helena gazed at the statue as she spoke again to Snape.

“The answer depends on who tells the story. I suppose really it was myself. Although I did not mean to, and it was not my power that made it so.”

She faced him once more. “When you go back to your master, tell him it was Salazar Slytherin who cursed my soul. Tell him that Salazar Slytherin is alive and knows the true secret to immortality.”

Snape laughed almost hysterically. “Slytherin? You cannot honestly expect him to believe that.”

Helena turned back to the statue, eyes fixing on the carved sneering face of the ancient wizard. “That is exactly the kind of bullshit story your master would believe.”

* * *

“She’s alive,” said Snape, his mouth a tight line. “In great pain, but alive which is an achievement considering how long captives of the Dark Lord usually last.”

Arthur heard the shaky breath Sirius released. He made no reaction of his own, returning the intense look of Snape as the man’s eyes bore into his. He allowed all of his thoughts to drift from his mind, calmly practising as he had once been taught, aware of the wizard’s goal.

“What can we do to help her?” asked Sirius urgently from where he sat beside Arthur.

Snape broke his gaze and slid his focus to his former schoolmate. “There is nothing you can do. Malfoy Manor has been expertly warded against an outside attack. There will be no freeing her. To attempt to would be a suicidal mission.”

Snape returned his attention to Arthur. “You seem quite unconcerned considering it is your wife we are discussing.”

Sirius swore loudly and banged on the table. “You’re out of line, Snivellus!”

“Sit down, Sirius,” said Arthur calmly. The instruction carried a weight that relaxed Sirius immediately, almost against his own will. He sat down with a confused look in the direction of his friend.

Arthur leant forward, speaking directly to Snape despite all of the other people present in the kitchen. “I do not need to hear your pathetic analyses of my character, Professor. No amount of _legilimecy_ could help you understand my emotions on the subject of my wife.”

* * *

Someone was shaking her. Helena woke slowly, her thoughts and memories muddled. She blinked awake, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of the shaking. Her eyes blurred in and out of focus for a time, the shape of a wizard indecipherable against a dark background. She guessed that it was night as her body shivered with the cold.

“Helena? You need to wake up.”

Her gaze focused suddenly on the familiar sight of Draco Malfoy. She could only just make out his concerned expression in the dark. He moved away from her with a quiet shuffling of noise and she felt him tug at her legs. Pain flooded throughout her and her muscles seized in surprise before a feeling of relief seeped in.

“I’m sorry, I had to take the bonds off your feet, they were hurting you,” murmured Draco, returning to her eye line. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while now.”

Helena’s eyes slid to her wrist where she recalled the knife having forced a wound open. The weapon was gone and the skin there was pink and angry-looking but no longer bleeding.

“You need to get yourself out of here,” continued Draco. “I know you said you couldn’t die, but the Dark Lord is going to keep trying to prove you wrong.”

“I c-cannot use my magic,” replied Helena, finding her voice although it was quiet and powerless.

“You have no other choice,” said Draco.

“It is not a choice,” said Helena. “My body cannot produce the energy to perform even the simplest spells. I am too weak. Immortal I may be, but I need time to heal.”

Draco looked pained, pointing his wand at her and vanishing some of the blood that stained her skin. “I was hoping you would just wake up and be able to fix yourself.”

Helena smiled weakly. “It’s not as easy as that unfortunately. Thank you for trying to help me anyway.”

“I’m not out of ideas just yet,” said Draco determinedly, standing abruptly. “ _Dobby_.”

* * *

Arthur’s arms were folded around his knees, posture relaxed as he sat on the shore of the lake, watching the ripple of the tide approach him and retreat just as quickly. The glint of the sun on the surface of the water did not hurt his eyes. The air around him was calm and clear, the sky pink and streaked with hazy clouds. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the peaceful scent of the scene and feeling it loosen all of the tightness in his body.

“Where are we?”

He did not start at the interruption. He took time in coming back to himself, opening his eyes with a blissful smile. He took in the sight of his wife, standing in old fashioned clothes to his left. She dropped to the ground suddenly, gathering herself into her own ball with her chin on her knees, and looked out at the lake.

“This is his final resting place,” said Arthur, his heart light despite the truth of the words. “This is where I brought him.”

Helena nodded thoughtfully. She shifted where she sat, motioning to his knees with a wave of her hand. He flattened them against the ground and she took it as permission to lay her head in his lap, eyes still gazing out at the water.

“I didn’t think you would be able to visit here in your dreams,” said Helena quietly.

Arthur threaded his hands into her hair, gently tugging his fingers through the strands. “I haven’t been, for most of my life. At first, every dream I had here was a nightmare. But now I’ve grown to understand that there’s no evil here. This place has been blessed by his presence, even in death.”

Arthur felt the sigh heave out of her body, her shoulders trembling under the touch of his hands.

“Can you come home?” asked Helena, rolling her head so that she faced him. He noticed for the first time that her face was drawn and tired. “I think I need you to come and look after me.”

Arthur frowned at her. “I think I can count on one hand the amount of times you have asked me to look after you.”

Helena smiled. “Exactly. My body is weak and recovering, and I’m afraid the Malfoy child will do something stupid while I’m sleeping.”

A cold sensation crept up his spine, confusion tainting his sleepy bliss. “What?” asked Arthur, already feeling the calm of the lake evaporate around him.

“Come home, Arthur.”

* * *

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, feeling his father’s hand on his shoulder. He stared at the woman lying in the bed. Her body was covered by thick blankets, her head and shoulders propped up on several pillows. He could see that her hair was matted with blood and dirt and bruises marred her pale skin. There was a nasty looking cut across her forehead in particular, stretching from one temple to the other. Harry shivered at the sight of the crusted blood at the edges of the wound.

“Go on,” said Arthur, nudging Harry forward.

He stumbled closer, moving to stand beside Helena’s head. Harry sat on the edge of the mattress, hand hovering somewhere above Helena’s chest. He set his hand down on top of the blankets and looked back to his dad.

“Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?”

“No hospitals,” said Helena suddenly, her voice croaky.

Harry jumped, almost falling off the bed. He grabbed hold of the bed clothes to steady himself, gasping with surprise.

“I didn’t think you were awake,” he choked out, blinking away the urge to cry.

“I am now,” replied Helena. She pulled her left arm from underneath the blankets gingerly, moving it to cover one of Harry’s hands. “Thank you for coming.”

He let out a quiet whine. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t come did you? I know I said some horrible things to you and I’m so sorry I did. I saw some of what he did to you, I’ve been going over and over it in my mind these past few days. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if he had…if he had…”

Helena hushed him, squeezing his hand gently. “You need to learn to guard your mind against him. You shouldn’t have seen any of that and I’m sorry you did.”

Harry leaned forward, allowing her to kiss his forehead tenderly. She slipped her arms around him in a hug.

“Harry?” asked an uncertain voice from the doorway.

He turned to see Draco hovering behind him. His friend looked pale and dishevelled, his hands pulling through his hair anxiously.

“Do you hate me?” mumbled Draco. “All of the stuff they did to her, my family…I’m sorry.”

Harry’s mouth hung open as he stared at his friend. Draco moved backwards, as if to flee. Harry launched himself at the other wizard, throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“Thanks, Draco,” he whispered, feeling the other teenager relax against him.

* * *

“Draco cannot return to Hogwarts,” said Helena, watching her husband’s face for his reaction. “It will not be safe for him there.”

Arthur nodded. “Harry will fight it.”

“Harry can try,” said Helena firmly. “Draco knows it himself. His father will have ways to get to him, even inside the walls of the castle. There is only a few months left of the school year. Come September, I’m not sure Harry will return to school either.”

* * *

Harry could feel Draco’s eyes burning into his back. He did not turn to look at his friend, continuing to fill his travelling trunk with the clean clothes his father had left for him. He stacked them carelessly in the little space that wasn’t taken up by textbooks and scrolls of half-finished homework. He had to rearrange the books three times, lifting them this way and that to make extra room to squeeze another article of clothing in. He punched the air in celebration when he at last covered the contents with his invisibility cloak and slammed the lid of the trunk down.

“Why do you do everything the Muggle way?” asked Draco, coming around Harry and flopping down onto the bed.

“We didn’t all have _Dobbys_ to do things for us,” said Harry dryly. “Though I would’ve killed to have had him around when I was a kid. Helena and Dad always made me do chores.”

“Dobby is… _was_ only one of my family’s elves,” said Draco thoughtfully. “I was never asked to do anything. Cleaning isn’t very becoming of pureblood heirs.”

Harry heaved the trunk onto the floor with some effort, and fell down beside Draco on the mattress. “I think you’re going to have to learn, mate. Dad won’t care how pure your blood is, he’ll want you to wash the dishes anyway.”

Draco frowned at him. “Are you sure about going back to Hogwarts? It isn’t too late to change your mind, you know. I don’t know what Helena had in mind when she said she would home-school me, but it would be easy enough for her to teach the two of us together.”

Harry shivered dramatically. “No, thanks. I can’t imagine Helena as a teacher, I’ll let _you_ be that guinea pig.” He shook off Draco’s attempts to ask what the animal had to do with anything. “Besides, I need to go back for ‘Mione. She’d never leave with the year half-finished like that, and we can’t just leave her on her own.”

“I’m worried about you and Umbridge,” said Draco seriously. “You couldn’t keep out of trouble on the first day you met her, how are you going to manage for the rest of the year?”

Harry looked at his friend, taking in the concerned expression on his face. He nodded with a sigh, holding out his hand. Draco eyes it with suspicion.

“I solemnly swear that I will do my absolute best to keep out of trouble with Umbridge,” said Harry, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Draco reached out but hesitated before their hands made contact. “A wizard swear?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Wizard swear,” he replied, grasping Draco’s hand in his own. He winced at the slight shock that echoed through both of their bodies.

* * *

Draco slammed his hand down on the newspaper, sending a jolt through the table. Both Helena and Arthur looked up in surprise, taking in his furious expression.

“He promised me he wasn’t going to do anything stupid!” said the teenager, lifting _The Quibbler_ and shaking it in their direction. “He swore it! Doesn’t this look stupid?”

The couple looked at each other in amusement before returning their focus to Draco. Arthur stood suddenly, circling the table between them and stopping behind him. He put both his hands on Draco’s shoulders and guided him to a nearby seat.

“The more time you spend with Harry, Draco,” said Arthur, moving away to prepare the wizard a cup of tea. “The more you’ll realise how little you can do to keep him out of trouble.”

* * *

They met in the corridor of Grimmauld Place. Snape stood back against the wall, allowing the mismatched flow of witches and wizards to pass him by. She waited for a gap in the stream of people before she squeezed Arthur’s hand, encouraging him to follow the others. She did not miss the look of distaste her husband sent Snape but she ignored it, sidling up to the man and into his personal space.

Snape bowed his head sharply in greeting as the sounds of the others died down as they continued down the hall.

“You certainly look better than when I last saw you,” said Snape, voice dripping with sarcasm. He made no move to join the others in the basement and nor did Helena.

“That wouldn’t be difficult,” answered Helena with a smile. “I am feeling better, thank you for asking and showing _concern._ ”

He scowled. “What have you told the Order members or your ordeal?”

“That I was lucky to survive with my life, of course,” said Helena slyly. The expression on her face was one of challenge, as if urging him to say something.

Snape sighed, closing his eyes briefly before shaking his head. “The Dark Lord is attempting to squash any rumours. He does not like the idea known that there may be others out there who have powers he does not understand.”

“And isn’t that fortunate for me,” said Helena, folding her arms but keeping a smile on her face.

“The rumours will reach the ears of some of our Order eventually,” said Snape. “No secret remains private forever.”

“I don’t need it to remain private forever, just for a while longer,” answered Helena. “How are Harry’s lessons coming along?”

“Changing the subject will not change what I know.”

“I know that,” retorted Helena. “I just wanted to know.”

“There is little to know, then. Your son applies himself to Occlumency just the same as he applies himself to any of his other lessons, which is to say, not at all.”

Helena laughed, a light and friendly sound filling the air between them. She started to lead them in the direction of the basement, conscious of the time that had passed.

“You have many years of experience teaching, I am sure you can get through to him.”

“I’m a natural _Occlumens_ , teaching a skill is very difficult when it comes instinctively, particularly when it doesn’t come as such to the pupil.”

Helena gave him a smile. “Harry can learn how to do it, he just needs time and patience, which you no doubt have endless amounts of.”

“ _You_ could have taught him yourself and saved me the trouble. You are a strong _Occlumens_ yourself, did you come by the skill naturally?”

“Oh, not at all,” said Helena with a chuckle. “I was more like Harry, nothing about controlling my emotions and thoughts came effortlessly to me, but I did have the strongest mentally-minded wizard of the age to teach me, and I have had a long time to practice. Time and practice would make any witch or wizard look stronger than the average, I promise you. Harry doesn’t need to be as able as me to keep Voldemort out. He just needs to block out those stray thoughts and emotions that disturb him.”

She paused at the entrance to the basement, turning to send a smirk in his direction. “I’m not asking for too much, am I?”

* * *

“Draco will be so upset he missed this,” murmured Hermione as they watched Professor Trelawney wail in the courtyard. “He’s been wanting to make that woman sob for three years now.”

* * *

The owl arrived late in the night as they sat around the kitchen table in little groups, chatting amongst themselves. Arthur didn’t look up from his game of chess with Sirius, scowling as his knight was wiped out by a vicious looking pawn.

“I’m convinced you’re cheating somehow,” he muttered, gesturing rudely at the wizard who crowed with pleasure.

“Don’t need to cheat when you’ve got skill,” replied Sirius. He stopped smirking and directed his attention to Molly Weasley who was flapping parchment in the air.

“It’s from Fred,” said the woman with a gasp. “It says that Umbridge has taken over as Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore has disappeared.”

Sirius leapt to his feet, seizing the letter from her hands. Around the room, the few gathered adults burst into chatter; Bill Weasley approaching his mother with hands in the air to soothe her, Tonks swearing colourfully and Remus retrieving his wand to send out a _patronus_. Arthur remained seated, looking at Sirius with a frown.

“Disappeared to where? Surely it would make sense for him to come here,” said Arthur.

“He is probably afraid of being caught somewhere, the Ministry must be out for his blood,” said Tonks, sounding cheerful despite the circumstances.

Arthur’s frown deepened. “This is a secret headquarters for a secret organisation. Surely he can come stay here without any problems.”

Molly tutted at him as if he was a child, fussing about the kitchen with pots and pans that were already clean. “Let’s not worry about Albus for the moment, he can look after himself I’m certain. The children on the other hand – what will that Umbridge woman do to them!”

Sirius met Arthur’s eyes. “Let’s hope they can keep their heads down until we hear something more from Dumbledore.”

“Not bloody likely,” said Arthur to himself, turning back to the chest board and ordering his rook to move.

* * *

“Rotten bunch of Slytherins!” yelled Fred Weasley, kicking his shoe against the wall for dramatic effect. “Er, no offence, Harry.”

Harry and Hermione had turned automatically toward the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the House points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upward, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

“Your roommate, Goyle, just docked us fifty points,” said George from his position beside his irate twin.

“I didn’t even know he could speak so many words in one go as he just did, thick bastard” said Fred.

Ron Weasley came down the marble staircase and joined them in front of the hourglasses. He swore when he saw the state of the stones.

“Montague got me earlier after breakfast,” said Ron, shaking a furious fist at the Gryffindor hourglass.

“Well, he won’t be getting anyone else anytime soon,” said Fred chirpily.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione, eyebrows raised.

“He’s had an accident, dear Granger,” replied Fred. “He fell headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.”

Hermione looked horrified. “But you’ll get into terrible trouble!”

“Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,” said Fred coolly. “Anyway . . . we’ve decided we don’t care about getting into trouble anymore.”

“Have you ever?” asked Hermione.

“ ’Course we have,” said George. “Never been expelled, have we?”

“We’ve always known where to draw the line,” said Fred.

“We might have put a toe across it occasionally,” said George.

“But we’ve always stopped short of causing real mayhem,” said Fred.

“But now?” said Ron tentatively.

“Well, now —” said George.

“— what with Dumbledore gone —” said Fred.

“— we reckon a bit of mayhem —” said George.

“— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,” said Fred.

“You mustn’t!” whispered Hermione. “You really mustn’t! She’d love a reason to expel you!”

“You don’t get it, Hermione, do you?” said Fred, smiling at her. “We don’t care about staying anymore. We’d walk out right now if we weren’t determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway,” he checked his watch, “phase one is about to begin. I’d get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can’t have had anything to do with it.”

“Anything to do with what?” said Hermione anxiously.

“You’ll see,” said George. “Run along, now.”

Fred and George turned away and disappeared in the swelling crowd descending the stairs toward lunch. Harry followed them with his eyes for as long as he could before they disappeared.

“This is going to be fantastic,” said Harry with a huge smile on his face.

“I think we should get out of here, you know,” said Hermione nervously. “Just in case . . .”

“Yeah, all right,” said Ron, and the three of them moved toward the doors to the Great Hall.

* * *

“Did you _really_ create a swamp in the middle of the fifth floor?” asked Helena, her face bright with interest. 

Molly Weasley scowled at her. “They do not need any further encouragement from _you_ , Madame Fay, they have already ruined their lives enough for one week.”

Helena ignored her. “I think it’s brilliant, actually, just what the fifth floor needed to brighten it up.”

The twins smirked, dodging the slaps to their heads their mother attempted to deliver.

* * *

“Professor,” gasped Harry, pounding on the door of the dungeons. “Professor, please, I need to talk to you!”

The door flung open suddenly and Harry stumbled through, hands out as he tried to find something to steady him. Strong hands caught him by the shoulders, stopping him sharply and putting him back onto his feet.

“ _What_ ,” began Professor Snape, voice scathing, “Could be so urgent, Potter, that you come storming in here, uninvited and unwelcome?”

Harry panted for air, relaxing minutely in the presence of his Head of House. “Professor,” said Harry, struggling to get the words out with his heaving chest, “You know my parents from the Order, don’t you? Can you get a message to them?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I am not your personal owl, Potter.”

“It’s not that,” moaned Harry. “It’s happened again. I had a vision, from Voldemort.” He ignored Snape’s slight shudder. “He has Sirius in the Department of Mysteries and he’s going to kill him.”

“Potter-”

“No, please don’t tell me I’m crazy,” begged Harry. “It’s the exact same as when I saw Helena, I _know_ it was real, I can’t watch him being hurt, I can’t do it again.”

“ _Harry_ ,” said Snape, shaking the boy by the shoulder. “Stop that and for once in your life use your rational brain. Even if the Dark Lord has Black, there is nothing you can do from here.”

“But-”

“Do _not_ argue with me. I will contact your mother and ask her to check on Black and see if what you have seen is the truth.”

“Of course it’s the truth!” exclaimed Harry furiously. “What else could it be?”

“A lie, an image intended to draw you from the security of this castle to somewhere the Dark Lord could hurt you. Stay. Put.”

Snape held his wand aloft and Harry whimpered as an indistinct _Patronus_ burst from the tip. He pushed Harry into a chair in front of his desk as a knock sounded on the door.

* * *

“This is an opportunity,” said Arthur, looking around the Order members who had hastily assembled. “We can surmise that they have laid a trap in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort likely has several of his generals there awaiting a teenage boy to show up so they can capture him. What if we turn it around and ambush them instead.”

“There will be no ambushing,” replied Dumbledore gently but firm. “We do not win battles honestly by guerrilla warfare.”

“And honest fighters don’t win many wars,” said Arthur snappily. “You are wasting an opportunity to wipe out several of Voldemort’s key personnel in one easy move.”

“Mate,” said Sirius, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I expected this kind of response from Helena but not you. Our aim has always been to capture and not kill.”

“And that aim won’t be enough when your enemy is out to kill you,” said Arthur. “War is never honest or nice. It is dirty and grim and any chance you get to best your enemy should be taken.”

His words left an awkward silence in their wake. Tonks began to speak, obviously trying to clear the air and several voices broke out into discussion around them.

“They know nothing about fighting battles,” said Arthur quietly but bitterly. Beside him, his wife gave a sympathetic nod.

“Of course they don’t,” agreed Helena. “But it is probably better if we don’t burn Draco’s father alive in the bowels of the Ministry, not for the moment anyway.”

* * *

Harry abandoned his luggage on the platform, running and launching himself at the man who stood half-turned away from him. The older wizard stumbled backwards, catching himself and Harry with a laugh.

“Woah, down, Harry, you’re too old and tall to be climbing all over me,” said Sirius Black, hugging the boy and releasing him quickly to look him over. “How are you doing?”

“I’m so happy to see you,” replied Harry with a grin, squirming out of his Godfather’s reach. “I really thought you were in trouble.”

“He’s still in one piece, not for want of trying with all the time he’s spent blowing himself up in the attic with the twins,” came the snarky voice of Helena, to Sirius’ left.

Harry’s eyes flitted between them. He stepped forward suddenly, arms outstretched and enclosed Helena in a quick but tight hug.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Harry, over the sound of a complaining Hermione who came up behind him.

“He’s at my house with his house elf,” said Sirius, greeting Hermione with a kiss on the cheek and taking her trunk out of her hands. “The elf was most interested in coming to collect you today, but we decided it wasn’t wise. All sorts of people show up for the return of the _Express_ after all.”

Harry grinned. “I bet he was delighted at that decision.”

“I’m sure you can imagine his reaction,” said Helena with a smile of her own. “He is most curious about the fate of your Headmistress, I believe.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, whose cheeks reddened instantly. “We know nothing more than was reported in _The Prophet_ ,” said the young witch. “We have absolutely no idea how a woman who hates so called half-breeds managed to find herself in the middle of the Forbidden Forest surrounded by a herd of centaurs.”

“So it would seem, Hermione,” said Helena amusedly. “I don’t think it will do much to cure her of her racist beliefs, I’m afraid.”

“No, I don’t suppose it will,” said Hermione. “Oh well. Can we set off, then? I don’t know if Harry has told you but I’m now a huge proponent of house elf rights, so I would only love to meet this house elf.”

Harry laughed, linking an arm through his friend’s and tugging her gently through the crowds as they moved off the platform together.

* * *

Helena ignored the curious calls of the portraits, moving down each corridor fluidly without hesitation. She walked with purpose and the castle seemed to sense it, sending the right stair cases and shortcuts her way without her needing to ask for them. She came to a stop eventually on the seventh floor, her feet carrying her unconsciously to the left.

She snorted when she saw the tapestry, reading the title with an almost nervous giggle. The trolls wobbled on unsteady feet as they attempted to mimic the wizard who had his back turned to Helena. She reached forward with a single finger and poked at the painted man. He jumped with a choking sound, turning immediately to blink at her in shock.

“How long have you been on this corridor?” asked Helena curiously, pulling her hand away from the portrait.

The little wizard puffed his chest. “We were situated here on the seventh floor in 1812,” answered the podgy figure. “We were moved from the first floor after trolls fell out of popular favour when the forest trolls attacked the Great Hall.”

Helena bowed her head and thanked the wizard. He took it as his cue to return to his attempts to teach the beasts to dance and Helena turned her attention instead to the wall opposite the tapestry. She approached it now with hesitation, reaching out to skim her fingers along the brickwork. She kept her left hand on the wall as she walked the length of it, then turned and walked back the way she came. She closed her eyes and repeated the route, opening them on instinct when the door appeared in the wall.

She paused on the handle briefly, before she pushed the door open and slipped inside. The room had transformed itself into a form she did not recognise. A corridor stretched from the door for as far as her eyes could see, dark stone walls lit by flaming sconces. It was only just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, she realised, measuring the space with her arms outstretched. She started moving down the hallway cautiously, hearing the heels of her boots click against the stone floors with each step. She walked for several minutes, wondering with faint amusement as the walls did not change if there was any ending to the corridor and she would be destined to walk for ever.

Eventually the path began to widen and Helena slowed. She reached a hand in the air and summoned a thick lump of wood, lighting the tip of it on fire with a murmured charm. The makeshift torch glowed instantly, casting more light than the fires of the sconces. She waved it in front of her, the flames immediately showing her that she was entering a huge open chamber. She continued moving forwards, stumbling when her feet hit something. Helena looked downwards with the aid of her torch and noticed the beginnings of a staircase.

Fires ignited around her, lighting the dark and cold room with warm glows of orange and red. She saw then that the staircase was huge, hundreds of granite steps building into a great height, reminiscent of the temples of old religions. She climbed the first few, noticing as she did the sounds of skirts moving around her legs. Helena glanced down and realised with annoyance that her jeans had been transformed to heavy skirts, a rich green dress now covering her body. She lifted one arm to examine a sleeve, wondering if the clothing had been drawn from fantasy or memory.

It took several minutes of climbing, Helena becoming fatigued both mentally and physically, for her to see the throne. It stood in the centre of the vast steps, a giant striking snake’s head carved out of stone. The animal was menacing and violent although it was frozen in place. She thought, partially amused, that it matched the man who sat in the chair hewn from the rock underneath the head. She was too far away to see the figure’s face or features, but she did not need to in order to know who it was.

Helena did not address him as she ascended, instead she waited until she drew nearer. She stopped with several stairs between them, eager to keep a distance between them, and stood still and upright.

“Most would have the good sense to bow,” said the man who sat on the snake throne. His voice echoed around the chamber and Helena knew she would have heard it even from the bottom step.

“I never did have much sense,” replied Helena dryly. She felt the coercion in his words, coaxing her to bow to his will but she did not.

“No,” said the man. “That much was always clear.”

He rose from the throne, casually dropping down several of the stairs that separated them. He stopped walking when there were still four steps between them. She guessed it was intentional, a tactic aimed at intimidating her as he towered over her from the position.

“What _have_ you done to yourself?”

His hand landed on her head and quick fingers raked into the roots of her hair, tugging downwards to play with the curly ends. Helena flinched but did not pull away. She caught sight of the locks of hair he twirled around his fingers, watching as the blonde colouring appeared to drain away to be replaced by a rusty brown.

“You are not afraid of me, are you?” asked the wizard, his tone playful and light.

“I have never stopped being afraid of you,” answered Helena, her voice weaker than she would prefer it to be.

Salazar Slytherin laughed, the sound haunting her as it echoed around the chamber. He released her hair and caught her chin instead, directing her gaze up to meet his own.

“You have no reason to fear me,” said Slytherin quietly.

Helena scoffed. “I can think of at least ten reasons, and then there is the fact that you never needed a reason to hurt me, Salazar.”

“Would you believe I have changed?” he questioned innocently, his free hand rising to hold his chest sincerely.

“Not ever.”

Slytherin’s smile turned sinister. “Then you are not as idiotic as you once were.” He let go of her face but stepped closer to her, continuing to stare into her eyes. “Do tell me, after all of these years, what is it that brings you to my prison?”

Helena looked away, eyes floating around the room from the stone floors to the high ceilings. “This room has been used lots this year, perhaps more times than any other year. Surely you have been listening to what the children talk about.”

Slytherin shrugged, an action that made Helena bristle instinctively. “They mostly talk about that Professor, the woman with the horrendous fashions.”

Helena cast her eyes up in frustration. “I am referring to the rising of the darkest wizard of this generation, Voldemort, he who many fear to name.”

“Ah yes,” agreed Slytherin. “I am familiar with the title.”

“Familiar with his blood line also,” said Helena. “He is of your kin. The last of it, in fact.”

Slytherin’s eyes narrowed. “The children did not mention that.”

“They might not know. It is widely assumed but rarely talked about.”

“This wizard may in fact me one of my own, yet it still does not explain why you have come to me.”

“Like his forefather, Voldemort has become _fascinated_ with the subject of immortality. Perhaps the interest is genetic.”

“ _Has_ he really?” asked Slytherin, sounding excited.

“He has split his soul into several pieces.”

He closed his eyes and cursed. “The most careless and feeble attempt at immortal life,” said Slytherin, sounding disgusted. “I would have expected more from my blood-son.”

“He is barely human at present,” Helena told him, “the fragments are prolonging his life but not his humanity, whatever little of it he must have had before this happened anyway.”

“I do not need you to say any more: I know what you came here to ask me, and I have no desire to hunt the pieces of a crazed man’s essence, my relative or not.” He turned and began to walk up the stairs away from her.

Helena chased him, needing to rush inelegantly to keep up with his longer legs. “You would not seize the opportunity to get out of here for the first time in a thousand years?”

“Not for this,” called Slytherin as he continued on ahead of her.

“Stop,” said Helena, halting herself on the steps. The wizard did not hesitate. “I told you to _stop_.”

Magic crackled in the air as an invisible force snapped Slytherin back as he made to move onwards. He struggled briefly against the spell before giving in and turning to face her again.

“You owe this world, to rid it of the evil you gave it,” said Helena, a little out of breath. “and what’s more, you owe _me_ a debt. _I_ am the one who can choose to call it in, _I_ am the one who controls you. It is time that both of us remember that you have no power over me, not anymore.”

She panted for air, placing a hand on her hip for support. A ghost of a true smile appeared on Slytherin’s lips, spreading upwards to light a fire in his eyes.

“Godric would be proud of your furious yet emotional declaration,” murmured Slytherin with great amusement.

Helena ignored the comment. She closed the distance between them and reached out a hand. Her fingers drifted to stroke his cheek. He leaned into the touch, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“The line of Salazar Slytherin should have died with us,” said Helena. “We cannot right all of our wrongs, but this is one we can.”

“I know you have not trusted me in a thousand years, Helga, but I would still do anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... who saw that coming? :0 Don't hate me ha, this was always the plan. Feel free to come at me in the comments. 
> 
> I would like to smugly point out that Helena's identity has been included in the tags since the first chapter was posted, hidden in plain sight. I think Zierra was the closest of all those who shared their guesses, so kudos to you but not quite!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this, let me know what you think.


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